Starlight Promises
by LiquidLash
Summary: Sequel to the completed story, And Then Some. Jacobyte Hasphane and Jonathon Holster have been freed from their five year accidental imprisonment and are making the most of it. Freedom, however, comes with more than they bargained for...
1. The End is Where We Start From

**Author note:** This November just gone I participated in a trial of writing madness called NaNoWriMo (look it up: it's like being in a cult without the free robes) and I wrote a 60,528 word, thirty chapter story called And Then Some, all about Jack Harkness and John Hart as they first met and theit time in the now infamous time loop. (It was like having a wife!) And this ramble does have a point, I assure you.

Anyway, on the morning of December 1st, I was left feeling strangely hollow. All those characters I'd created and nurtured (and abused... mostly abused) throughout November, they still had stories to tell. The beginning of this chapter wrote itself not eight hours after I had thought I was done with NaNoWriMo for good.

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter One – The End is Where We Start From**

A scream jolted Jonathan Holster from his bout of un-thoughtful thoughtfulness, and he glanced towards the bedroom in dread of what he might find there. He had thought Jacobyte past the nightmares that had so haunted their first few years together.

Apparently not.

Jonathan pushed himself away from the mid-height table bar that ran the length of the kitchen. He faced the rest of the room. The penthouse suite was open plan, mostly. To his right, the key coded lift doors, behind him and above the breakfast bar, a series of large windows, mirrored on the outside. The wall on his left wasn't a wall, in fact, but made entirely of glass, with one small door to let anyone who wished out onto the balcony. Jonathan paused, looking out at the view. That was the reason he'd snapped this place up straight away, all those years ago, regardless of the fact that it cost all of his savings. The view, and the freedom it brought.

Jacobyte and Jonathan had returned to Glariyo several weeks before, and Jonathan had practically forced Jacobyte to move out of his tiny Agency cabin and in with him. The small yet somehow expansive suite with star studded sky above and sweet, bustling city all around – Jonathan didn't think he could bear that sight alone. Living with Jacobyte had its costs, though. Some days it seemed worth it, others not so much.

Jonathan didn't know which one this might be as he passed the mirror screen, noting the purple smudges under his eyes, and nudged at the bedroom door. He hesitated before entering. Why did he hesitate? This was still _his_ apartment, _his_ home. He didn't have to pander to anyone's wishes. He was free. _They_ were free. Despite all of this, Jonathan tiptoed as lightly as he could into the room, nervous of what state he might find Jacobyte in.

He turned the floor length blinds. Starlight fell across the bed, revealing tangled sheets and finally Jacobyte, twisting, turning, writhing at their centre.

Another scream.

Jacobyte jolted awake as Jonathan watched. The fear in his eyes reflected by the dusky light of the open Glariyo sky. Jonathan advanced on the bed, trying not to sigh. He crawled across the sheets and tossed pillows to reached where Jacobyte shivered. When Jacobyte caught sight of him, the relief that flashed across his face stung Jonathan like a temporal backlash. It felt like that, too, to see Jacobyte reduced to this state once more.

"Jacobyte?"

"Not real," Jacobyte mumbled. "Not real, thank god. Not real."

"What's not real, sweetheart?"

"Had a— had a dream. Trapped. I couldn't find— couldn't get out again— and then you were, but I wasn't, and I wanted so much just to, but I _couldn't_—"

"Hush!" Jonathan gathered the shaking man up in his arms. "Jackie, it's alright, listen to me now, yeah? It's fine, I'm fine and we're— hey, are you crying?"

"Shut up," said Jacobyte, if soggily. Jonathan held him tighter, rocked him until he felt Jacobyte still under his hands, until he fell back into the lull of a dreamless sleep.

"Jacobyte, what I going to do with you, eh?"

"Lov' y' Jon'th'n."

"What?" Jonathan peered down, unsure if he'd heard a sleepy mumble or a sighing breath. Jacobyte's expression was slack, one of peaceful innocence, and it shut down Jonathan's thought processes, cancelled out his worries. So what if Jacobyte said he loved him? He didn't have to be conscious for it to be true. Jonathan pressed a kiss Jacobyte's sweat drenched forehead. "Love you too."

* * *

Dawn came too early for Jacobyte. Light pierced his lavender lids, and he moaned against the bright red invasion. He heard a chuckle, too. "Stop laughing at me."

"It amuses me how much you are still not a morning person."

Jacobyte raised his head, winced as he opened his eyes and the glare _really_ struck. "Why would I have changed, though?"

Jonathan unfolded his legs and lay down beside Jacobyte, wriggling until they curled against one another. Jacobyte put one arm under Jonathan's neck and lay the other over his waist, content to just _be_.

"I don't know," Jonathan told Jacobyte's hand. He fiddled idly with the fingernails, brushing them against his palm. "I keep expecting this big sign to flash over our heads saying 'You're free! You're free!' but it doesn't, and I don't know what to feel." He rolled over so that they bumped noses. Jacobyte laughed, and Jonathan felt the warm breath of it ghost over his face. He closed his eyes, opening them in surprise when Jacobyte kissed him. "What was that for?"

"You're confused. It's sweet."

"You die now."

Jacobyte grinned. The sight made Jonathan's heart soar. "Worth it."

* * *

Jonathan shrugged into his russet coat, pausing at the mirror screen to check his appearance. It had been some time since he'd been bothered about his looks, a long time since he'd had the need to. The right kind of cut never went out of style though, and boy did Jonathan love this coat. He twirled a little. Jacobyte whistled appreciatively from the sofa, ignoring the cityscape before him in favour of Jonathan's delighted grin.

"Where are you off to?"

"Going to check in with the Agency for a while," said Jonathan. "I haven't heard any news from Lindsa, so I'm assuming she's still around somewhere."

Jacobyte returned to whatever he was reading. Jonathan peered; couldn't see the cover. "Happy hunting," mumbled Jacobyte.

"You too!"

Jacobyte looked up again. "What?"

Finger on the lift button, Jonathan paused. "I have no idea."

"Right..."

"Any plans, then?" Finger still on the button. Waiting, waiting waiting.

"Not really. Might just mope around for a bit."

Go somewhere with me, he wanted to say. I want to show you places, just like you showed me. "Alright then," Jonathan said instead, swallowing down an unfamiliar lump in his throat. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Yep."

* * *

In the crowded Academy canteen. He didn't recognise her straight away. He had to do a double take when he realised it was her. Gone were the baggy combats and unflattering jacket. In their place she wore... Were those legs? Lindsa had legs? Jonathan blinked. In place of the previous outfit Lindsa now wore a pair of dark grey calf boots, dark blue trousers and a red-brown waistcoat over a plain white shirt. A tiny gold epaulette sat on one shoulder of her waistcoat.

She looked very much the part.

"Hello there, Captain."

Lindsa turned, caught sight of him and scowled. "Sod off, Jonathan."

"Not pleased to see me, then?" said Jonathan.

"Do you know how much trouble you two caused? Tulsen was at his wits end!"

"What's that then, two inches?"

Lindsa had to laugh then.

"And then he settled you here," said Jonathan, smirking. "Babysitting duty."

Lindsa glanced out over her charges. She'd spent the entire morning trying to school basic survival instincts into seemingly dim-witted teens, and she had had enough, thank you very much. "Sod off, Jonathan," she said again. Another session that afternoon, this time weapons training on the ranges. Well, there was some bright spark in the day after all. Maybe she'd get lucky and hit one of the brats by mistake.

"Shan't," said Jonathan.

"That was an order, Lieutenant."

"You can't order me around, Lindsa."

"Can too! See this?" She painted to the braid on her shoulder. "This means I can. Nyer."

"But it's _me_, Lindsa... Lickle ol' Jonnie."

"Sod off!" Jonathan pouted. Lindsa rolled her eyes. "God, you're annoying. And stop preening."

"Shan't."

"Stop saying that!"

"Sh—"

Lindsa slapped him. A wolf whistle echoed across the sudden silence in the canteen hall. Lindsa raised an eyebrow, daring him to make a fuss, daring him to challenge. Jonathan lowered the hand from his cheek, tonguing the sore flesh from the inside where it had cut into his teeth.

"Oh, Captain, Captain," he drawled. "I am _ever_ so sorry."

"Good."

"Just make it harder next time, yeah? You know I like it rough."

He ducked the next slap and pegged it from the canteen to shouts and jeers from the cadets all around.

Once outside, Jonathan flicked open his wrist strap to get in contact with Jacobyte, see if he fancied heading out for dinner or anything like that. Jonathan knew this lovely little place—

Voicemail?

Since when did he get the voicemail?

It didn't matter. Jonathan left a message, asking Jacobyte to get in touch as soon as possible. Several hours passed as he hung around the Academy complex, watching young cadets go about their businesses, slowly ruining their lives though they didn't know it yet. His wrist strap bleeped.

"Hey," said Jacobyte's tiny hologram.

"Hey."

"What's up?"

"Drinks? Now?"

"Where?"

"Rathy's place. Favourite haunt."

"Done."

Jonathan hung up, happy.

* * *

The door to the bar creaked upon, and Rathy glanced up. "Lieutenant!" He put down the glass he'd been, for lack of a better word, cleaning and smiled at Jonathan. "It's been too long."

A man Rathy didn't recognise, taller than the Lieutenant, followed him inside. They approached the bar and Jonathan quirked an eyebrow. "How long?"

"_Too_ long," said Rathy. "I miss my regulars, you know that."

"The ones that tip the most, you mean?"

"That too. What'll it be for you and your..." Rathy eyed up Jonathan's companion. "You and your gentleman friend?"

"Partner," Jonathan corrected. "Rathy, Captain Jacobyte Hasphane. Jacobyte, this is Rathy. He's a blowfish."

"I hadn't noticed."

"Rathy, I swear to all that is holy, beloved, twisted and-slash-or cynical, if you offer us mega-gins, I will chop you up into sushi chunks right here and now."

Rathy stopped with his hand halfway toward the row of bottles he kept under the bar. His head spines deflated. "What do you want, then?"

"Get me..." Jonathan stared at the wall behind Rathy. "Get me a Baladin cocktail."

"Two," said Jacobyte Hasphane.

"Oh, he speaks! Speak again bright angel!" Rathy threw down his cleaning cloth. It landed on the bar with a squelch, and Jonathan stared at it, as if daring the fetid piece of material to run away. As it was, Jacobyte was sure he saw the cloth twitch slightly under Jonathan's glare. "Jonathan," Rathy began, "you know I haven't got any of that stuff. This is a humble establishment—"

"You can say that with a straight face? Well done you!"

"This is but a humble establishment," Rathy said again. "I can't afford what's needed for bloody Baladin, and you know it!"

Jacobyte pulled himself up onto one of the bar stools and began teasing at the rag while Jonathan laughed at Rathy. He leaned across and dumped a handful of dull, heavy sounding coins onto the puddle spotted bar.

Rathy stared at the pile. "How?" he mouthed.

"Five years back pay," said Jonathan with a grin.

"What? You were only gone five months!"

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Are you complaining? We can take our business elsewhere, Rathy." Jacobyte looked up from the dishcloth and nodded.

"No, no," said Rathy, backtracking hastily. He made the coins disappear somewhere about his person. "I'll just go and get started, shall I?"

"You do that." Jonathan turned around and leaned his back on the bar, elbows splayed in support. He flicked his gaze sideways and paused. "Jacobyte, did that cloth just chase your finger?"

"Yep."

Jonathan sucked his cheek, staring at the scene. "Right," he said after a long moment.

"Can we adopt it?"

"Maybe later."


	2. Spiralling, Spiralling

**Author note:** Okay, I didn't intend for most of this chapter. Jacobyte and Jonathan got out of hand and I couldn't rein them in. Ask Galadriel1010, she knows! D:

The Plot will resume next chapter. Stay tuned, folks. In the meantime, reviews?

* * *

**Chapter Two – Spiralling, Spiralling**

The Baladin cocktail loomed before Jacobyte, and he tilted his head sideways to try and fit it into his line of vision. "Jonathan," he managed to say after a few thoughtful seconds.

Jonathan put down his glass, half drained already. A forty watt smile lit up his face. "Yeah?"

"One of these layers appears to be sparkling."

Sixty watts. "So it does."

"And there's something bubbling in this purple bit."

Fifty. "What purple bit?" Jonathan leaned across the table. Peered at the tall, tall glass. "Oh, _that_ purple bit." Back to sixty. "Yeah, you might want to hurry up and get to that. It'll only implode if you leave it too long."

Jacobyte took a sip. A very, very hesitant sip. He choked. "Oh sweet mercy..."

Jonathan rested his head in his folded arms on the table. "I know, right?"

"That's..."

"Glorious?"

"That's..."

"Heaven with a paper umbrella?"

"That is..."

"Liquid diamonds with a relish of stardust?"

"That is not bad," said Jacobyte. Jonathan peered up at him, having temporarily forgotten how his head and neck connected. Were those feet his? They looked like his. Nice shoes.

"What?"

Jacobyte sipped at it again. He clucked his tongue. "Yeah, not bad."

"That's all you can say?"

Another sip. A contented sigh. Something about the glass made Jonathan think, and thinking hurt. He laughed as he realised what was so strange. "What?" said Jacobyte. "What's funny?"

"You haven't hit the green yet. You're just on the surface.

"So?"

"Tonight, my dear Jacobyte, is going to be interesting."

"You're tempting fate, saying that," said Jacobyte. "You might as well have said 'well at least it isn't raining!'"

Jonathan managed to turn his head enough to look out of the grimy window to left of their two chair, wobbly table filled snug. "Well, it _isn't_ raining."

Thunder crackled high in the sky. Jonathan jumped. "See?" said Jacobyte.

"That was weird..."

"Fate. Narrative karma. I'm just saying, you have to watch out."

"Oh, not that Writer bullshit again, Jacobyte."

Jacobyte held up his hands. "I don't believe, but it's interesting."

Jonathan snorted into his – what did you call these things? End of his arm. Tip of his tongue. Hand! Jonathan snorted into his hand. "Are you into the green bit yet?"

"Nearly."

"How about now?"

Jacobyte stretched out what Jonathan thought was an arm and patted him on what he hoped was his head. "Patience, young Padawan."

"How about now?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

Jacobyte stuck his tongue, making a 'glaah' noise, to show the green stain.

"This is where the fun begins," Jonathan told his Nice Shoes.

"Jonathan," Jacobyte said slowly. Jonathan grinned. "Jonathan..."

"Yes?"

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Yes."

"Good to know." Jacobyte raised his glass in salute to Jonathan's slump, and then he downed half of it in one go.

"Impressive," said Jonathan, and Jacobyte bowed, "but dumb."

"Why so?"

"How many fingers on your right hand?"

"My right what?"

"Tonight," Jonathan said again. "Tonight, my dear, dear Jacobyte, is going to be interesting."

* * *

The world began and ended with Jacobyte. His hands slid up and down Jonathan's sides, and he revelled in the simple, greedy touch. Squeezing just there. Brushing just there. Feeling oh so good.

They stumbled out of the lift and nearly fell to the floor. They would have stayed there if it weren't for Jacobyte's insistent grumbles. Had Jonathan had carpet burn on his arse before? Had he? No.

Bedroom it was.

Jacobyte all but dragged Jonathan across the apartment. So much for enjoying the view. So much for thought processes. So much for anything but the way Jacobyte's hand felt grabbing onto Jonathan's hip, steering him through the piles of mess. Twice around the sofa. Careful of the bar stool. Watch out for that—

"Ow!" Jonathan hopped, trying to reach his stubbed toe. He fell over and took Jacobyte down with him. "Ow, you heavy bastard, get off!" Jacobyte ignored him. Wriggled closer and over until he straddled Jonathan's chest. "Get off, please?" Jonathan tried.

Jacobyte grinned, knowing, predatory. "You don't want me to get off."

Jonathan bucked his hips in return, relished the moan Jacobyte tried to bite back. "Yes I do," he whispered. The moan turned into a giggle of sorts, and Jonathan relished in that too. "You're so cute," he told Jacobyte.

"Oh, but am I?" Jacobyte tried to pull himself together. Failed. His eyes glittered in the half light.

"Yes." Another buck. Jacobyte's hands roamed his chest. "Very, very cute."

"I'll have to do something about that, than," said Jacobyte. Another grin. Dark. Scheming. Jonathan felt his pulse stutter, was sure Jacobyte could hear it; Jacobyte _should_ be able to hear it. Splaying his ankles for support, one hand on either side of Jonathan's head, Jacobyte leant forward. He covered Jonathan's upper body with just enough pressure to leave him craving more. Pressed his lips to Jonathan's ear even as Jonathan stared wide eyed at the ceiling. He whispered, "Roll over."

Jacobyte followed the line of Jonathan's jaw, and Jonathan moaned into the resultant kiss. He waited for Jacobyte to shift position, shuffled onto his front as he did so, felt the delicious pressure return against every last inch of him. The world span; Jacobyte's tantalising touch at its core. He pressed Jonathan's cheek to the carpet, firm and somehow almost infuriatingly gentle, and then rested his chin in the crook of Jonathan's neck, murmured into his ear again, driving Jonathan slowly mad with it all.

"You're still wearing your clothes," Jacobyte pointed out. He traced Jonathan's neck with his nose, inhaling the smell of him. "You've even got your coat on."

"Very observant, Jackie. Maybe you should do something about that?"

Jacobyte bit him. A startled yelp. He grinned into the reddening skin and said, "Patience, John-boy."

"Patience?" Jonathan repeated. "You've got me face down in the carpet. I can _feel_ all of you, and you want me to be— ah!"

"I said be patient," Jacobyte told the new bite, feeling Jonathan shudder underneath him. "You're not listening to me."

"But I—"

"Lieutenant."

Jonathan felt teeth graze his neck in warning, and he tried to remember how to swallow. "Captain?"

"Better." Jacobyte slid himself lower, resting his weight on the dip at the top of Jonathan's legs, angling the pressure till Jonathan moaned. He sat up completely and hooked his fingers around the collar of Jonathan's coat, waiting.

"Please," said Jonathan.

"Please what?" Idle teasing at the sensitive skin around Jonathan's collar and neck. "Please who?"

"Please, Captain."

"Put your arms back. I'm going to slide this off."

Jonathan complied, rolling his shoulders and shifting until his hands were by his hips. Starting with the collar, Jacobyte stripped the coat off, fingers catching Jonathan's skin – teasing, teasing, always teasing – as it went. Goosebumps flared. Jacobyte laughed, tossed the coat aside.

"Shut up," murmured Jonathan. "Always think you're so high and mighty—" Instant weight all down his spine. Insistent, almost to the point of pain. More, Jonathan wanted to say. _More_.

"What was that?" said Jacobyte.

"Nothing, Captain."

He tugged the shirt from out of Jonathan's waistband, pushed the fabric up to reveal the scar dappled flesh underneath. Jonathan hissed at the sudden cold, then again as Jacobyte began to trace loosely, setting fire to damaged nerves. _Moremoremore._

"Jac—"

The hot wet heat of Jacobyte's mouth on his spine. Jonathan closed his eyes, tried again.

"Jac—"

Hands teasing around his side, playing with the ticklish skin below the jut of his hips. Jonathan writhed into the carpet, and he heard Jacobyte give a breathless laugh. "Where's that legendary control, Holster?"

"Up your arse, Captain," Jonathan said as sweetly as he could manage.

Jacobyte reached all the way around underneath Jonathan, who arched to allow him access, and he toyed with Jonathan's trouser button. "Some could call that insubordination, Lieutenant."

Jonathan ground back against Jacobyte's crotch, practically humming as Jacobyte worked the trouser fastenings. "On the other hand, _Captain_, some would call it an invitation."

Jacobyte flipped him over. "Ow, Damnit," said Jonathan. "Okay, I believe you on the carpet burn front..." He trailed off. "You're looking at me funny."

"Maybe it's 'cause you _look_ funny."

"Your. Face."

"What of it?"

"I want to eat it."

"Be my guest."

Jonathan sat up and wrapped his hands around Jacobyte, gripping him by the hips, letting his thumbs ghost over the skin like Jacobyte's had done. "Finally," he whispered against Jacobyte's lips, "an invitation."

* * *

Jonathan woke up shivering. Why would he be shivering? He opened his eyes. Watery, morning sunlight glared back at him, reflected and refracted off every building under the Glariyo sky. Piecing headache. His brain rebelled. He clamped his eyes shut and tried to ignore the fact that not only did his mouth feel like something had crawled in and died there, but had also spawned half a dozen zombie creations to take its place and taunt his taste buds without mercy or recompense.

Last night, last night... Carpet burn on his back. Damnit, that was going to sting. And after the carpet? What events had led them to be on the penthouse suite's balcony, chilled by the Glariyo night and now blinded by its morning sun?

He attempted to clear his throat. Big mistake. After several unpleasant seconds filled with hacking, coughing and death threats against his internal organs, Jonathan managed to speak. Eyes still firmly shut against the blinding dawn. "Jackie?"

"Wsflrpt."

"Try coughing."

Jonathan heard him hack, followed by a tiny, miserable exultation of 'Ohyegods'.

"This would be your first Baladin hangover?"

Another miserable croak. "Can'tfeelmymouth."

"Taking that as a yes."

"Reallyreallycan't."

"Speak up, will you?"

"Isthismyhead?Idon'twantit."

Jonathan fumbled around blindly. One of his hands found a glass and he brought it to his nose, sniffed with caution. An interesting thing about Baladin is if you leave it long enough in the open air, all the alcohol and other substances evaporate away, leaving only the purest of water. He took a sip.

Pure water, on the other hand, could taste bloody disgusting. Or was that the horde of taste bud mongering zombies dancing on his tongue? In any case, Jonathan gagged. He passed the glass to where he hoped Jacobyte was. Fingers curled around his, accepted the gift. He waited for Jacobyte to protest the taste of the liquid but no complaint came. Jonathan opened his eyes, winced. Jacobyte sat in the deckchair opposite him. Both were equally stripy. He stared at them. They hadn't been there before, he was sure of it...

Jacobyte took another sip of the water. Heaved an almost orgasmic sigh as the cool liquid ran down his throat.

"How are you not disgusted by that?"

"Had worse out on the colonies."

Jonathan let it go. Tried to remember how his feet worked. Gave up and slumped in the chair. Jacobyte put down the now empty glass and appeared to look around for the first time, staring like Jonathan had at the striped deckchairs.

"How did these—"

"I have no bloody idea," said Jonathan.

"Umm," said Jacobyte. "Why are we surrounded by so many glasses?

"You wanted more Baladin," Jonathan told him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Jonathan scratched his nose, pleased to discover it was where he'd remembered it to be. "Developed quite a taste for it you did."

"Umm," said Jacobyte.

"It's amazing how quickly people get you things when you threaten violence," Jonathan continued.

Jacobyte blinked at him, rabbit eyed and bloodshot.

"Oh, don't worry. No one got shot."

"Right..."

"Much."

Jacobyte blinked again, put his face in his hands and moaned.


	3. Cycles and Repeats

**Author note:** I have finally found my Plot, huzzah! Well, by Plot, I mean I know how this story is ending, I just need to get there... *scratches plunnie infested brain thoughtfully*

On with the obligatory – massive love and glomps to Rachel (Galadriel1010) who is made of uber win and now has purple hair.

* * *

**Chapter Three – Cycles and Repeats**

"I'm cold," said Jonathan. he rubbed his upper arms, revisiting a few old and several unexpected bruises in the process. "Let's go back inside."

Jacobyte stared off into the distance. The sun was almost over the horizon now. Beautiful, Jonathan couldn't deny that, but only warming in the cockles-of-your-heart sense. He shivered again, waiting. "Jacobyte?"

"Go inside then."

"Don't you want to come with?" Jonathan managed to extricate himself from the death trap of deckchair (infernal creations) and minced over to Jacobyte. He walked his fingers across the back of Jacobyte's shoulders, ended up toying idly with his hair.

"If you want to go inside, Jonathan," said Jacobyte, turning to face him, catching Jonathan's wandering fingers in his own. He looked up into Jonathan's face, met those blue-grey eyes. "If you want to go, then go. I'm fine out here. Honest."

"But—" Jonathan stopped himself, let his hands fall from Jacobyte's grip. He sent a glare over the top of Jacobyte's head, out towards the open sky. Stealing Jacobyte like that, and look at Jacobyte, captured by the sight; ensnared by the expanse before him.

Jonathan went inside without another word. He tidied last night's mess without complaint, and he missed Jacobyte's presence beside him without quite knowing why. The man was one sheet of glass away, for pity's sake. Was Jonathan that attached?

* * *

Jacobyte could feel Jonathan watching him, just a tingle on the back of his neck but enough for him to tell. Five years and they were out. They were _out_. They were _free_.

He inhaled, drawing the chill morning air deep within him.

Freedom comes with a price. Jacobyte didn't want to be here on Glariyo, he wanted to be out there...

The feeling on the back of his neck reached a crescendo. Jacobyte swivelled his head to find Jonathan in the doorway. Not inside, not outside; always stuck somewhere in the middle. He pondered for a moment if he or Jonathan would ever find their place, if they could ever find somewhere they belonged.

"Hey," Jacobyte said softly.

"What were you doing yesterday?" said Jonathan, just as soft, not as sweet.

"I went out for a bit," said Jacobyte. He could feel his defences starting to rise. "No biggie."

"Where?"

And rise. "Does it matter?"

"I want to know."

Oh joy. This was rapidly becoming a Domestic. They hadn't had one of those in a while. "Tell me why it matters so much."

Jonathan pushed away from the doorway. Jacobyte turned his face back to the cityscape before him. Tried his best not to be overly aware of Jonathan behind him. A hand rested on his shoulder. He looked along it into Jonathan's frown. "I just want to know."

"I went to the medics."

The hand tightened. "What? Why?"

"The break," said Jacobyte. He wiggled his right arm in the air. "Wasn't sure if it had healed properly."

"But it was fine. You told me it was fine."

"Five years trapped in loop, Jonathan, not exactly the best way to gain medical advice."

"So what did they do?"

"Broke it. Reset it." Jacobyte shrugged. "Nothing much."

There was something deeper in Jonathan's eyes as he said, "Why didn't you tell me?" His hand dropped off Jacobyte's shoulder and he walked around the deckchair. "I would have come with you, you know."

"I wanted to do it by myself. Get some space."

"Oh." A duller look. Jacobyte felt a lump rise in his throat, tried to swallow around it. "Okay," said Jonathan.

Jacobyte felt him walk back inside, the itching pressure on the back of his neck lessening with each step Jonathan took away from him. He put his face in his hands. His throat was more sore than should really be legal, and he wanted water very, very much.

Or a beer. A beer would be nice.

"Jonathan?"

Jonathan appeared in the doorway again with a peeved look on his face, clearly saying 'what the hell now?'

"Do we have any beer?"

"No."

"Shame."

"Anything else? Only I've got stuff to be doing."

Jacobyte's turn to interrogate. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Just stuff," said Jonathan. He shrugged into his coat as Jacobyte watched. "I'll be back this afternoon, so don't go worrying your pretty little head." To call his tone condescending would be an understatement. Jacobyte felt his jaw tighten.

"I won't," he said with harsh sincerity.

Jonathan slammed the door behind him. If Jacobyte hadn't know it couldn't, he'd have worried about the glass shattering. As it was he swore he could see tiny cracks running down the length of it... Or maybe that was just a post-Baladin infected metaphor for his relationship with Jonathan. Jacobyte rubbed his face into his palms again, hoping somehow to disappear inside their touch.

* * *

Rain hammered the empty streets, and Jonathan glowered at the downpour from the shelter of the apartment block's ground level entrance. So much for a dramatic exit. No way in hell was he going all the way back upstairs to get his hat.

Something hit his back. A soft voice said, "Oops, sorry!"

He turned, the words 'Don't worry about it' freezing on his lips as he took in the woman. Skin almost black with a silver sheen, red curling hair and large golden eyes set in a small face. Jonathan cleared his throat. "Don't worry about it."

The woman peered past him at the street and pulled a face. "Horrid weather."

Jonathan grinned. It always amazed him what companionship could be drawn from stating the obvious. "Tell me about it."

She eyed him up and down. Considering her height, it mostly consisted of up. "What floor are you, then?"

"Top."

"Oh, so you're the arrogant bastards who have it off at all hours of the day and night so I can't get a wink of sleep?"

"If you can't sleep, you're welcome to join," Jonathan couldn't help but say. The woman scoffed, looked him over again.

"Can't say I'm not tempted, but my girlfriend would throw a fit."

Jonathan gave a loose shrug. "Nothing ventured—"

"—nothing gained. Good motto." The golden eyed woman frowned at the street again, at the constant deluge that splattered up and soaked the tips of their shoes. "Want a lift to the Academy?"

Jonathan did a double take.

"Oh, come on," said the woman, grinning. "You lot aren't exactly subtle, are you?"

"What gave me away?"

"Handful of things. I'm going to go with the shoes, though."

Jonathan peered at his steadily-getting-wetter feet. "And what of them?"

"They haven't made those on Glariyo for about..." The woman tilted her head. "Ooh, twelve centuries?"

Jonathan laughed. "You're an Archiver?"

A brilliant smile, out of place in the greyed rain. "One of the best."

"Nice." Jonathan shook out his shoes, shivered inside his coat. The woman was starting to stare at that curiously too. He hadn't found this as legally as he had the shoes. Time for a distraction. "You said something about a lift?"

"Monifa's coming round with the buggy. She won't mind an extra passenger."

"Monifa being the girlfriend?"

"That's right."

"Nice name," said Jonathan. "But I bet yours is nicer."

The woman laughed. The sound seemed muted by the rain. "Ayo Majista."

"One of the Yoruba colonists?"

A surprised look. "Well done."

"I pay attention," Jonathan said by way of explanation.

"As do I," said Ayo. "You've done a good job with your accent, by the way. If I hadn't spent some time on Cryst I'd never have guessed."

Jonathan's eyed darkened. He tried to control his breathing. Ayo noticed.

"I won't say anything if you don't want me to, but I'm surprised the Agency took you in, knowing where you came from."

"What says they know?"

"But you— You can't keep something like that a secret!"

Jonathan turned on her, backed her into the thin length of wall that framed the doorway. To her credit, the blaze in her eye didn't flicker once. "I have done," Jonathan said, enunciating every word with as much malice as he could muster. "And it will stay that way, are we clear?"

A mocking smile twitched at the corner of Ayo's mouth. "Crystal."

Jonathan laughed. "Good. I'm glad." He looked out into the street and saw a hover-buggy floating along toward them. A cinnamon skinned young woman visible just behind the windscreen frowned as she saw Jonathan crowding in on Ayo, and the buggy speeded up.

"Know what?" said Jonathan. "I'll walk. Nice meeting you, Ayo Majista."

"Wait, what's your name, Lieutenant?"

Jonathan spat on the ground, watched it dissolve along with the rain. He glared at Ayo, rivulets of water running down from his hair into his eyes. "You know I'm a Lieutenant, you know where I live, you know I've fiddled with my records. If you were such a competent Archiver as you claim to be, you wouldn't have to ask."

He stalked off down the street, heading toward the high rise of the Time Agency buildings.

The Academy/Agency complex dominated over a fifth of the city, its domes and courtyards languishing in the golden glow of Glariyo's sun while below tunnels and training halls sheltered in the hollowed out rock.

Almost all of the chronon had been mined out of this area now, the original reason for the Agency choosing this planet as their base; equipment powered by the time energy laden mineral commonly known as chronon, short for chrononite. The Agency hungered for anything temporal. Learning all they could before adapting it to their own needs or filing it away in the vast Archive centres that lay strewn across Glariyo like pock marks and ulcers of knowledge.

The central Agency building, from which most of the high ranking officers and agents worked, ran missions, investigations and collated information, was surrounded by a large, metre thick wall. It had two entrances, one a large ornate gate, and on the plaza in front of that a multi-cultural market had grown over the years, selling bits of tat and time shifted bargains to any willing customer. The other entrance, small, discrete and far away from the market, was the one the Agents actually used.

Jonathan reached the market after half an hour of chilled rain walking. Melancholy mood over, now he was just cold and wet. So much for drama. He snagged a water shelter from the stall of an unobservant kronkan and then dodged a few del-boy tray sellers hoping to make him 'the deal of his life' with chronon encrusted jewellery on his way out of the market. Jonathan made a note to report the last few to the Agency inside; no way would chronon sell out on the open like that. On the other hand, it seemed like a good racket, maybe if they had an agent to prove the validity, they could make a fortune...

He shook his head, sending water flying, and under the cover the water shelter provided, he made his way around the walls to the discrete side entrance. He scanned his wrist strap and entered, a hand on his shoulder and a voice by his ear almost instantly.

"Wotcher," said Lindsa. She spun him around, caught sight of his sodden scowl. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Sod off, Linny." He shrugged out from under her loose grip and carried on toward the Agency's equivalent of a reception building.

Lindsa kept pace with him easily, damn her. "You're telling me to sod off? Déjà vu much, or did—"

"If you were about to make _that_ joke," Jonathan warned. "I swear I'll disown you."

Lindsa pulled a face. "To disown me, you'd have had to have owned me first, sugar lips."

Jonathan blinked at that one. "You're in a better mood," he observed. "You didn't shoot a cadet after all, did you?"

"He'll have a burn on his right thigh for three weeks," Lindsa said, wearing the biggest grin Jonathan had ever seen on her. "Oh, it was wonderful."

"You scare me."

"Taking that as a compliment." She gave him a once over and made a _tut_ sound with her teeth. "You shouldn't do that to suede," said Lindsa, fingering his collar. "Come with me, I'll find you something more waterproof."

"Don't need it, I've got this." Jonathan wiggled his water shelter feebly. Lindsa arched an eyebrow.

"You stole that, didn't you?"

The wiggle was less feeble this time. "Yep."

"You scare me."

Jonathan circled her as they walked to the reception building. Grinned. "I'm taking that as a compliment."


	4. Magpie

**Author note: **Big, timey wimey love to everyone who's reviewed, and to anyone who will! You all seem to draw much more from the story than I originally intend, and it's fan_tas_tic – I wouldn't have half the plot I do without you! You guys are utter win.

As ever, fudge and reviews are love.

* * *

**Chapter Four – Magpie**

Some people know when it's time to give up. Captain Lindsa Denovan wasn't one of those people. As she led him through the stacks of clothes she seemed to know like the back of her hand, he reflected that people could still surprise you. Lindsa had settled with almost unbelievable ease into her teaching post, leaving Jonathan on the outside. To her it had been roughly half a year since they'd been un-partnered. To him it was well over five years.

What do you do with that kind of friendship?

"You after anything in particular, Jonathan?"

Several answers danced on the tip of his tongue before Jonathan managed to pull himself together and say, "I don't want a new coat. I'm great with this one."

"It's ruined. As a superior officer, I am ordering you to replace it."

"Show off," Jonathan muttered. Lindsa flashed him a grin. "You're getting off on this, aren't you? Being the one in charge?"

"Darling," said Lindsa as she paced the rows, looking for some in particular. Jonathan didn't like the calculating look in her eye. "I've always been the one in charge."

"I still don't want a new coat! I'm attached to this one! Where are we anyway?"

"Earth section. Europe in the early twenty first century. What are you around the waist?"

"What, that's the only measurement you want?" Jonathan gave a half-hearted leer.

"That's the only measurement I'll ever be interested in. And anyway, I want inches, not millimetres."

"Ouch. Way to batter my ego."

"Your ego can't be battered, Jonathan, it has its own gravitational pull. I'm lucky to not be an event horizon, just standing here."

Jonathan fluttered his eyelashes at her, then gave his measurements. Lindsa towed them to appropriate row of shelves, and Jonathan felt his head tip backward. The racks stretched upward to the cathedral height ceiling, every possible space filled with air tight containers of materialistic culture. "Oh sweet deity," he said. "That's enormous."

"You said that with a straight face," Lindsa observed. "How did you, the man who can make a computer terminal blush, say that with a straight face?"

"Pure natural talent."

Lindsa snorted. Jonathan bit back a smile and began to search the racks in front of them for anything he might like. A hand tapped his shoulder. He turned and was rewarded with a face full of musty leather. "Try this!" Lindsa enthused, thrusting the black length into his arms. Once free of the sodden suede and into the dry folds of the coat, Jonathan had to admit he felt much better, and much more stylish. He twirled on his feet, earning a wolf whistle from Lindsa, and he relished in the flare of the material, feeling it almost ooze out from his hips and sweep around him, cutting a swathe through the fading grey.

Lindsa prodded the dark brown, now leaking, pile of the old coat, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her muscles tighten. "Jonathan..."

Innocent. He could do innocent. "What?"

"I could report you," she said, glancing up at him as he span.

Innocent? He couldn't around her. "Yeah, but you wouldn't."

"You went into a no-go zone for an item of clothing? Was it really worth risking your life and your memories? You'd be a vegetable if anyone had found out!"

"It was worth it right up until the rain fell."

"Management don't take kindly to their edicts being ignored, Lieutenant."

"Well, _Captain_," he said, turning on her, "why don't you report me, then, eh? Possibly something to do with that rather pretty and intricate hairgrip I saw squirreled away in your blond locks? You think no one will notice it when you hand me over to those RetCon bastards?"

Lindsa huffed, a hand rising to the clip in her hair. "Sharp eyed bugger, ain't cha?"

"I try," said Jonathan. "And come off your high horse, you know everyone does it."

"I certainly haven't."

"Then how—"

"Eric."

Jonathan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Oh," he said. "Oh, well this changes things. Got ourselves an admirer while we were trapped on the backwater space station, did we?"

Lindsa's cheeks flushed, and Jonathan knew he was on to something.

"And know we're all alone on Glariyo," he continued. "Far, far away from the loving carrot top, with only idiot cadets to keep us company."

Lindsa snarled an insult and whipped out her hand, striking him across the side of his face. "You're one to talk! Stuck with that captain for five years, you're like his fucking pet! Have you seen the way you hang off his every word? It's pathetic!"

Jonathan caught hold of her wrist, wrenching it to the side, and Lindsa grabbed his other hand as it flew to hit her. They circled like that, hands trapped in one another's grip.

"Jonathan, what _happened_ to you in there?" Lindsa all but cried out.

"Like you care!" Jonathan shot back. He twisted her wrist, eliciting a gasp of surprise, and then he winced himself as she return. "I've heard why you got promoted so fast, is that all our being partners was? Just a ladder for your career? Fuck, Linny!"

"I never wanted to be promoted!"

"Sure as hell don't look like it!"

"Umm," said a small voice. Jonathan and Lindsa rounded on the sound, scowling for all they were worth. The innocent archiver actually backed away several steps.

"What?" snapped Jonathan.

"Umm, could you keep it down? Some of us are... trying to work..." Jonathan and Lindsa's glares did not lessen one iota, and the archiver trailed off. "Umm," he said again.

"Sure thing," said Lindsa, voice sickeningly sweet and simpering. "Wouldn't want to disturb you diligent paper pushers now, would we?"

Jonathan shot her a grim smile before returning to the archiver, who had backed away even further.

"I mean," Lindsa continued, "it's not like the worst you've ever had to suffer is a paper cut, or a case of a dropped box, is it? Not like you're risking life, limb and sanity to keep the universe running straight?"

"If I may, I'd just like to put some emphasis on the sanity part," said Jonathan.

"Umm," said the archiver.

"Why don't you leave us along and get back to your sorting?" said Lindsa, still simpering and icy.

"Yes," said Jonathan, wanting in on the fun. "Why don't you?"

"I'll get... I'll get back to my sorting..."

"Good man," said Lindsa.

The archiver retreated the way he'd come along the stacks and disappeared from sight. Lindsa turned her attention back to Jonathan to find his eyes twinkling, grip slack. "Truce?" he offered, letting go of her wrist.

"Truce," she said, also letting go. They rubbed their respective wrists for a while. "You love him?" asked Lindsa all of a sudden, all but blurting out the words.

"I don't know if it's love," Jonathan said slowly, "but it's something..."

* * *

The rain lessened. The sky over the Agency complex cleared quite suddenly, revealing a stunning blue as the winds picked up and blew across the market place, tousling hair and temper alike. Lindsa and Jonathan emerged from Costume Archive Four and turned their faces to the breeze. Revelled in the freshness of it after the oppressive atmosphere the clutches stacks had provided.

Across the quad they saw the burly, bearded figure of Major Tulsen talking animatedly with a taller and thinner dark haired man. Jonathan could not see if the man in question was with facial hair or not, partly because he was facing away from them, but mostly because of the fact that, as he was facing away, Jonathan had the most magnificent view of his arse.

Lindsa whistled under her breath. "Nice."

"Yeah..."

"I don't recognise him," she said. "I thought I knew all the high-ups."

A scathing look on Jonathan's part. "Get you with your connections."

"Oh shut up. You're just jealous."

"Of what?" said Jonathan. When Lindsa looked set to reply, he shushed her, indicated the argument continuing unabated across the courtyard. They couldn't hear, but they could see. Tulsen's arms waved about wildly. The dark haired man stayed composed. Neither of the two had noticed Jonathan or Lindsa. "What's that about, do you reckon, oh high and mighty captain?"

"No idea," said Lindsa, swatting him on the shoulder. "Tulsen's getting an earful, though. And he's out of his office!"

"Crikey," said Jonathan. "I didn't think the guy had _legs_... He's looking this way! Lindsa— Lindsa?" Jonathan turned in time to see a blonde headed grin disappearing around the corner, and he huffed. Tulsen said goodbye to the dark haired man and advanced on Jonathan. "Linny, you little coward," he muttered to the empty air.

Tulsen drew level, tipping his head. "Lieutenant." Jonathan did the same.

"Major."

Tulsen looked left and right, even peered to see around Jonathan. "Where's Captain Denovan gone? I swore she was with you."

"Trick of the light, sir," said Jonathan. Tulsen's expression ramped up from 'polite confusion' to 'don't-play-silly-buggers-with-me-lad'. Jonathan smiled a smile that was an innocent as cream, and the corner of his mouth began to twitch as Tulsen stared him down. Jonathan had to hand it to the man, staring someone down when they're a head taller than you is not a feat many can accomplish successfully.

"Hmm," said Tulsen.

"Sir?"

"Ah well. I'll track her down soon enough. It's you I wanted to see, actually, Lieutenant."

"Couldn't you have called me to your office then, sir?" Tulsen shifted, looked uncomfortable. The penny dropped. "You didn't need to see me until Mr Straight Cut And Fancy free from Management bent your ear just now?" Jonathan concluded.

"Something like that," Tulsen mumbled, before remembering he was making excuses to a subordinate. He cleared his throat, huffed a little; straightened his over starched (and undersized) jacket. Jonathan wanted to commend the Major's actions. There wasn't a straight line on him, and to get the jacket to hang like that probably broke several very important laws of physics, space and time.

"Lieutenant Holster."

"Sir?"

"Eyes on the face, lad."

Jonathan bit back a grin. "Sir."

"You and, er, Captain Hasphane getting on alright?" A nervousness seemed to spring from nowhere in Tulsen's eyes. "Settling back into the swing of things?"

"Yes, sir," said Jonathan, trying to keep a straight face. "Thanks for asking." He bit his lips from the inside.

"Good, good," said Tulsen. He trailed off and fiddled with a hangnail, avoiding Jonathan's expectant gaze. Jonathan tucked his hands behind his back, tried not to wince at the friction burn there (Jacobyte had said it would sting, and he'd been smiling so devilishly while saying it that Jonathan hadn't heard a word...). Jonathan sucked the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing at Tulsen's almost boyish reluctance. The Major was practically shuffling his feet for pity's sake. What had gotten into him?

Jonathan decided to throw him a line. "Oh, we're getting along fine, Major," he said, adding a mental appendum of 'until this morning, anyway'. "Why do you ask?"

"I'll get to the point, Holster."

Finally.

"You're being sent out next week. The both of you."

What? Jonathan blinked. "What? next week? Sir! But that's— We haven't been on active duty for nigh on five years!"

"You don't think I'm not aware of the situation?" said Tulsen, wringing his stodgy hands. "Mr Straight Cut And Fancy free, as you appear to have christened him – he isn't a lightweight,"

"I know he's Management," said Jonathan, just to clarify.

"I've got no choice in the natter," the Major continued. "_You've_ got no choice in the matter. None of us have."

"Joy!" Jonathan unclasped his hands from behind his back, where they'd been threatening to break each other. He told them to play nice, rested his fingers lightly on his belt. "So we're trapped again, is that it?"

"Holster, you've been trapped ever since you signed up, and you damn well know it."

"Sir—"

"No. I don't want you two out there, but those on high seem to think differently. Lack of atmosphere, perhaps."

Jonathan let lose a dry laugh.

"You'll do as you're bid," said Tulsen. "Unless you'd like to quit altogether?"

"No, sir," said Jonathan, as venomously as he could manage.

"You signed the dotted line, Jonathan. Get to it." Tulsen straightened his jacket again, defying several more of the laws of gravity. "I'll expect to see you and Captain Hasphane here bright and early tomorrow morning."

Jonathan tipped his head, the action stiff. "Sir."

Tulsen left him to stew.


	5. Power to the People

**Author note: **Dedicated to Rachel (Galadriel1010), Maddi and my sister, for singing power ballads with me all Tuesday. Double dedication to Rachel for giggle snorting when i send her itty bitty excerpts.

I hope you'll have as much fun reading this as I had writing it...

* * *

**Chapter Five – Power to the People**

Jonathan watched the Major waddle away, glowering at the back of his head. He needed to get back to the apartment, tell Jacobyte about this new 'mission'. Everything was going to hell, and there's a point, thought Jonathan. _Where the hell's Lindsa_?

The empty courtyard brokered no sign, and when Jonathan turned the cover of the archive building, he was greeted by the almost hidden yet definitely bewildered face of a cadet who hadn't been looking where they were going, now surprised to find themselves subject to Jonathan's best glare.

"Well?" said Jonathan.

The black haired cadet of indeterminable gender blanched. "I'm sorry?"

"What else?"

The cadet frowned, face shrouded by the mess of hair that, to Jonathan, appeared to be threatening to engulf the entire head. "I should be more careful?"

"So that?" he prompted.

"So that I don't get myself slapped by a pissed off Lieutenant?" said the cadet.

"What makes you think I'm pissed off?"

"Your right eye is twitching."

Jonathan nodded. Affected a lofty air. "Bonus points for observation."

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome."

The cadet looked confused. Jonathan beamed at her. Him. It. Jonathan beamed at it.

"Have you seen Captain Denovan, sir?"

"Deity, don't call me sir. You're making me feel _old_, you know that? Try for Lieutenant Holster instead," said Jonathan. "It's good last name. Chose it myself."

"Then have you seen Captain Denovan, Lieut—" The cadet stopped. Stared. "Hang on, you're the one who—" Cut off again.

Jonathan arched an eyebrow, waiting for the cadet to finish. "The one who...? Go on."

"The Rogue," said the cadet. "You're one of the two that got trapped by the Rogue."

"That rates as gossip? Blimey." Jonathan ran a hand through his hair. The cadet waited. "Why do you need our good Captain Denovan, then?"

"I'm meant to come to her if I need help."

"And do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Need help."

The cadet looked even more confused. It wrung its hands together.

"I think she went that way," Jonathan said, as kindly as he could manage, and he picked a random direction, pointed for the cadet.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"No problem."

Jonathan watched it walk away, smirked and shook his head. He leaned against the ornamental tree beside him in the courtyard, casting his eyes around every few seconds.

"Much appreciated," said a familiar and amused voice. Jonathan felt his eyes flick side to side before rolling irrevocably upwards. Lindsa grinned down at him like a frocked Cheshire cat.

"How did you get up there?" he asked, grinning back despite himself. From when Jonathan could see, the ornamental tree was utterly branchless for several metres; no hand holds for climbing, especially not to the height Lindsa was at. She perched on the branch high above his head and indicated her boots.

"Grav-mat soles. Great for a quick escape."

Jonathan whistled. "I'll have to get me some of them."

"You should." Lindsa hit a small, innocuous looking button on the side of her right heel, releasing the soles from their gravity defying grip on the branch and she slid to the ground, landing in a feline crouch.

"Nice," said Jonathan, and Lindsa tipped him a little bob of a curtsy as she stood. "Captain Denovan," he said slowly. "You are a coward."

The curtsy stopped. Lindsa straightened up, on the defensive.

"Hiding from Tulsen?" Jonathan continued. "From cadets? Ickle bitty cadets?"

Lindsa scoffed. "You were in the Academy. You know what it's like."

Jonathan affected a lofty air, inspected his nails. "I don't remember much of my time as a cadet..."

"Exactly my point," said Lindsa. "If they aren't drunk, they're hung-over. If they're not dumb ass fecks, they're smart arsed fucks. I remember _you_ in the Academy, Jonathan. Possibly the only boy who could combine all four and get away with it."

"I told you before, Linny. Pure. Natural. Talent."

Another scoff. Jonathan grinned at her, stuck his hands in the pockets of his newly acquired coat and was pleasantly surprised to find them lined with silk.

And something else besides.

Jonathan pulled the curious object out and frowned at it. "What the deity?"

"Oh! I know what that is," said Lindsa.

"Yeah?"

"Early twenty first Earth juke box. Music machine."

Jonathan passed it to her and let her fiddle. The device was black on one side, silver on the other, with a circle and a square with symbols on them on the black side. "Why is it in hardware?"

Lindsa laughed at him. Held an object out, brandishing it in his face. Jonathan eyed the small bud shaped item, attached to the music device by a rubber covered wire.

"In your ear," said Lindsa.

"What?" Jonathan blinked, then laughed. "No way in hell is that going anywhere inside me." He stopped, became thoughtful. Eyed the thin cable stretching from machine to bud. "Does it vibrate?"

Lindsa swatted him on the shoulder. "Worth a shot," he said.

"No, it does _not_ vibrate. Think of it as a hardware equivalent of that nanophone implant I know you got on your tympanic membrane."

"Not going to let me forget that, are you?"

"No way." She punched his shoulder, playful this time. "Electronic impulses are sent up this wire—" Lindsa wiggled it for emphasis "—and into these buds, where tiny magnets shake at different frequencies. Create the sound. Make you hear the music."

"I know how primitive speakers work, Lindsa. I'm not an idiot."

"Well I'm sorry, Mr Wise Ass, Dumb Ass, Idiot And Genius Combined, who slept with the teachers to pass his earth culture modules.

"Hey!" Jonathan protested. "Less of the idiot. And it was only one teacher."

"I heard two," said Lindsa.

"It was one," said Jonathan. He sighed. "Mr Strael, if you must know."

"Mr Strael with the squint?" asked Lindsa, the very image of incredulity. "The one with the—"

"—the split personality. Yeah. Only limps on alternate Thursdays. Him."

Lindsa blinked. "Remind me of the grade you got in the end?"

"Near enough full marks."

"Wow."

"Both his personalities left feeling very happy," Jonathan felt he had to add.

"I'll bet," said Lindsa. He laughed at her expression and put the strangely rounded bud into his ear. Lindsa did the same with hers, spinning the touch dial on the black side of the music device.

"Why is it taking so long?" said Jonathan. He glanced around. "This feels weird."

"Hush," said Lindsa. "And since when did weird mean bad? Anyway, I'm trying to find if— aha! Yes!"

"What?"

"Listen."

And Jonathan listened as the first few chords rang out. He was tapping his foot within seconds. "Can you make it louder?"

Lindsa said, "Sure thing!"

The third time the song played, they were singing along.

"Wake me up before you go-go," crooned Jonathan, spinning Lindsa around and getting tangled in the wire that ran from headphone to music device.

"Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo," Lindsa sang back. "Wake me up— what _is_ a yo-yo, anyway?"

"No idea. Don't stop singing."

The black haired cadet of miscellaneous gender turned the corner then, and froze. Lindsa froze too, lips stuck mid-word.

"Captain D–Denovan?"

Jonathan grabbed Lindsa's hand, yelled 'Leg it!' and pulled her away.

"Captain!" the cadet called after them.

"I'll see you tomorrow!" Lindsa shouted over her shoulder amidst a fit of childish giggles as Jonathan twirled them around the next corner and out of sight.

* * *

The owner of the Rouge Cascade cafe, a short, balding man called Cuthbert, glanced up from his desk in the manager's office. There was that noise again. Like an animal being put through every misery it could possible imagine. He clutched his head, abandoned the expense forms and went out into the cafe proper. He hailed a passing (and panicked) waitress over the continued caterwauling.

"_Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?"_

"Tez?"

"_Ooh, heaven is a place on earth!"_

"Sir?"

"_They say in heaven, love comes first!"_

"What in the seven hells is going on?!"

Tez pointed wordlessly to the table in the far corner, where two agents, one a blonde woman in a red waistcoat and the other a brown haired man wearing a black leather coat, were singing at the top of their lungs. The brown haired man turned, caught sight of Cuthbert and Tez, and stopped singing long enough to shout, "You there! More of your special blend!" He wiggled his empty cup in the air, and the woman beside him laughed.

"_We'll make heaven a place on earth!"_

Cuthbert felt his eyes pop. Rouge Cascade had had trouble in the past. One day in particular when a certain medicinal plant had wound its way into the cake mixture, and half the customers who walked out swore they were doing so on their elbows. That in itself hadn't been much of a problem, expect for the moment when the cook said he'd ran out of cake mix, and the hallucinating customers outside kept demanding more and more and—

Cuthbert shuddered. Sometimes he still saw the coffee stains.

"Get Nicky," Cuthbert hissed at Tez. "Throw them out."

"Service!" shouted the blonde. The man picked up the call, and a couple across the room got up from their table and left, disgusted expressions to them both. Cuthbert felt his eyes pop.

"Throw them out _now_!"

"Sir," said Tez. "You sure about that?"

Cuthbert rounded on her.

"It's just that... Well, they're paying a lot. We've made more off those two in half an hour than from a full host all day."

His eyes popped further, joined by a calculating smile. "Really."

Tez nodded.

"When they say special blend..."

"Triple shots of hyper-vodka in every mug," said Tez.

Cuthbert bit his lip, looking from the full cashiers desk to the rowdy pair in the corner. "Make it quadruple."


	6. Heartstrings

**Chapter Six – Heartstrings**

"Bah-bah-bah-bah!" Jonathan tapped his knee in time. "I wanna be sedated— what was this one again?"

"I do believe they called themselves _The Ramones_," said Lindsa.

Jonathan nodded. "Nice name. Names are important."

"Names are. This is true. Like 'Holster'." Jonathan snorted into his coffee. "Oh, come on!" said Lindsa. "Little bit presumptuous, no?"

"No," said Jonathan. "I like to have powerful weapons inside of me. Holster works."

Lindsa's turn to snort and choke on her coffee. "That was awful," she said.

Jonathan fluttered his eyelashes. "Wasn't it just?"

"Shame on you, Lieutenant."

"Shame? Why should I have shame?" He leered. "Are you calling me a bad boy?"

"Deity, no. Because then you'll ask to be punished, and I don't have enough brain bleach on me to satisfactorily scrub away the memories of the conversation that will inevitably ensue."

"I don't know how you do it, Linny, but I think become _more_ alert when you're drunk."

"Pure natural talent," said Lindsa, grinning in earnest. Those words were fast becoming a running joke. "And I'm not drunk!"

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Trick question— Ah! Shut up. I like this one." When Jonathan looked set to continue his inebriated analysis, Lindsa put her fingers on his lips (and succeeded on the third attempt) to silence him. She counted down. "Three, two one: You're the voice, try and understand it! Make a noise and make it clear—" Jonathan joined her in the next bit "—oh-ooh, oh-ohh, oh-wooh!"

"Wohh-ooh, oh-ohh, oh-woohh!"

"We're not gonna sit in silence!"

"We're not gonna live with fear—" They took a deep breath, brought their hands up in equally dramatic gestures and near screeched, "Oh-ohh, oh-oohh, oh-woohhh!"

"Excuse me?" said a timid voice.

Lindsa and Jonathan turned in their seats to find a waitress hovering over them, her hands clasped in front of her apron, twisting the material in a silent pleas. She glanced over her shoulder to where her anxious boss fretted by the cash desk, and back to Jonathan and Lindsa. "We're shutting up now," she said by way of explanation.

"Shutting up?" repeated Jonathan. The waitress nodded. "What time is it—?" He looked at his wrist strap. "Shit!"

Lindsa blinked. "Jonathan?"

He stood up, threw a handful of Glariyan credits down on the table beside their empty cups. "Sorry Linny. Got to get back." A pause. He caught the forlorn look in her eye. The waitress, sensing something amiss, fluttered back to the manager. The man hissed something at her, some sort of reprimand Jonathan couldn't hear, and the waitress ignored him.

"Look," said Jonathan, returning to the situation at hand. "We'll do this again soon, yeah? It's nice to have some fun without the pressure of partners and life and death and shit."

Lindsa barked a bitter laugh. "There's always that pressure, though."

"Then it's nice to pretend," Jonathan countered. "Come on, captain. Get up. Go home. Holo-call Mr Carrot Top at the space station, if it'll cheer you up."

She smiled. "That sounds like an excellent plan, Lieutenant."

Once they'd gone, Tez turned to Cuthbert and said, "How come you're never sweet on me like that?"

"Get more tips."

She hit his shoulder. Hard.

"Assaulting the boss, Tez?" said Cuthbert. "Again?"

"I'm _advising_ the boss," she corrected. "If he doesn't take me home right now, he'll regret it."

* * *

Jonathan entered the lift on the ground floor of his apartment. A voice called out, "Hold it!" and so he did. Maybe he was feeling nice. Maybe he'd had a nice day after all.

The cinnamon skinned woman he'd been glared at by earlier dashed through the closing lift doors, panting slightly.

Then she recognised him.

"Oh," she said. "You."

"Me?" Jonathan looked himself up and down, then stuck out his hand. "Hello, you must be Monifa. I pissed off your girlfriend this morning."

Monifa had to laugh. "I don't know what you said to her. She hasn't been that annoyed since I ordered the bookshelf by title as opposed to author."

"Ouch."

"Tell me about it," said Monifa. "Life with an Archiver. Not always fun."

"You're on the floor below mine?" Jonathan prompted, finger hovering over the controls. Monifa nodded. Jonathan pressed down, offered her a bracing smile. Best behaviour.

"We wanted the penthouse," she said after a silence filled by the lift's gentle, electronic hum. "We moved in a few months ago,. They said it was on hold. Were you off on one of those time mission thingies?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

"Oh?"

"Agency business. Need-to-know."

Monifa was about to say something, but then the lift lurched to a halt. Jonathan laughed. She pressed her thumb to the control that would open the doors to her apartment, letting it take a second or so to scan and finally allow her entry.

"See you around, Monifa," said Jonathan as she stepped out. The cinnamon skinned woman stopped and turned, flicking a hand up to stop the doors from shutting. Took a step forward, back into the lift. Jonathan raised both eyebrows.

"Tell me your name," said Monifa.

The corner of Jonathan's mouth twisted into a dry smile and his eyes flashed, amused. "No."

"I won't tell Ayo," said Monifa, wheedling for all she was worth.

"Doesn't matter. It's more fun this way, don't you think?"

"I could force it out of you."

Jonathan laughed. "You're an Archiver's bit of skirt. I don't think you could do much."

Something Jonathan remembered five seconds too late from his Academy training was never to assume people are a certain way; never to underestimate anyone, be it foe, friend or – worst of all – utter stranger. Sure was a shame this little titbit of information had to make a reappearance just as his face was being crushed into the lift floor, and not before. Monifa's hands applied just the right amount of pressure to his temples to make him feel as if his head was about to implode and explode simultaneously, and her knee dug into the small of his back.

She had him pinned.

"Your name?"

"I can't decide whether to feel jealous or sympathetic for Ayo. You're amazingly feisty— ah!"

"Your name, if you please, sweetie," said Monifa, "or I turn your brain into a two dimensional smear on the carpet."

"Lieutenant J. Holster."

"The J stands for?"

"Jesus, my head hurts?" Monifa twisted her knee. "Ow! Damn! No? Not Jesus?"

"No."

"Jonathan, then," he said, giving up. "And you'd be?"

"You know my name."

"Your rank, I mean," said Jonathan, as conversationally as he could manage given his mouth was half full of carpet fuzz.

"Colonel Monifa Wull."

"Pleased to meet you, Colonel."

"Likewise," said Monifa, sounding amused.

"I'd attempt to shake your hand again, but, you know—" Jonathan moaned. "Look, can you please stop crushing my spine?"

"Sure thing. So long as you give me your word you won't hassle Ayo anymore."

"I'd give you my spleen if I thought it would make you get up—" Another moan, almost a shriek of pain this time. "I promise! I promise, see?"

"Good." She sprang back up, lingering in the lift doorway as Jonathan got shakily to his knees and then feet. "See you around, Jonathan."

Jonathan snarled something intelligible at her sweet smile, and the lift doors closed with an audible _thunk_.

* * *

The apartment was almost painful empty when Jonathan entered. He knew straight away as the lift doors revealed darkness beyond, just a feeling somewhere deep in his chest, that Jacobyte had gone.

Gone out, he corrected, shuffling into the apartment. "He's just gone out," Jonathan muttered to himself. He flicked open his wrist strap, wasn't surprised to reach Jacobyte's answer machine.

"Jacobyte. You need to get back here ASAP. I hope you haven't been drinking, or are planning on doing an all-nighter—" At least not without me, Jonathan added mentally "—because we're in at the Agency early tomorrow morning. Okay. Hope you're well and you're having fun—" And I hope you're missing me, because sweet heavens, I want you here so badly "—catch you later, Jackie."

He hung up. Looked around the empty apartment. Looked down, trying to see through the floor to the apartment below. He grinned.

* * *

Ayo glared at the ceiling. "I swear, if this carries on any longer..." Monifa shushed her. Ayo turned the glare down a notch and asked, incredulous, "But how can you stand it?"

"It's kind of catchy," said Monifa through a full mouth. She swallowed. "Thanks for dinner, by the way."

"You're welcome—"

"_And I need you now tonight! And I need you more than ever! And if you'll only hold me tight! We'll be holding on forever! 'Cause we'd only be making it right!"_

"You think that's catchy?" said Ayo. "Good thing I only love you for your looks."

"Bitch bitch, whine whine, moan moan."

"_I really need you tonight! Forever's gonna start tonight, forever's gonna start— once upon a time, I was falling in love, but now I'm only falling apart."_

"Please fall apart," murmured Ayo, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Please, please, please."

"Maybe if we wait, he'll give up."

"Or fall apart."

"Or fall apart," said Monifa. She laughed. "You should see your face."

Ayo put her full attention back on Monifa, on that smile she loved so much. "You should see yours. It's beautiful."

"_Nothing I can do, it's a total eclipse of the heart!"_

"Shut the fuck up!" shrieked Ayo. She twitched as Monifa took her hand in hers and stroked it. "Please make him stop? He's ruining our wonderful Moment."

"What makes you think anything can ruin one of our Moments?" Monifa leaned in, brushed Ayo's lips with hers. "Hmm?"

* * *

"Turn around, bright eyes— there's nothing I can do, a total eclipse of the heeaaart!"

"_I'm gonna kill him!"_

Jonathan drew a gasping breath, grinned and pushed himself up from the floor. Shrieking below; laughter above: a job well done.

On the offchance that Jacobyte _had_ crawled out of whatever gutter and-slash-or bottle he was inhabiting that evening, Jonathan checked his wrist strap.

_You have 0 new messages._

He hadn't expected anything different, if he was honest. A few hours to kill now, and nothing and no one to do...

A thought occurred to Jonathan. An urge he hadn't had in some years. Too long by his reckoning.

In the bedroom, tucked under the double bed (he'd had a double bed before, but when Jacobyte moved in he just made sure it was a _bigger_ double bed) lay an innocuous plastic case, about one foot by one half foot square. Crawling to reach it, Jonathan battled with internal emotions. Should he, shouldn't he? He hadn't played in years, with very good reason. Memories threatened to choke him as he lay on his front under the bed.

He made up his mind and pulled out the case, unlocked it with the tiny key he always kept with him (now, at least – somehow it had been forgotten when he'd gone on the mission with Jacobyte, and through those five years he'd always felt like some part of him was missing) and Jonathan pulled out from the case a small metallic instrument.

This was the last thing his mother had given him, right before she died. Her very own steera. He gave the strings a half hearted pluck, wincing at the painfully out of tune _twang_.

* * *

"It's gone quiet," said Monifa. "I think he's stopped."

"Pah. Just when we think we're safe, he'll start up again."

"No, I really think he's—"

A low, drawn out whine. Pure, guttural sound.

"What was that?" said Ayo. They both stared up at the ceiling as if it would prove an answer.

"I don't know," said Monifa, "but it sounded like—"

Another whine. It seemed to permeate through the walls and up through Ayo's feet, tuning straight into her heart. She gasped as a melody began to flow.

"Never figured him a man for a steera," said Monifa in a quiet voice.

"A what?"

"Listen. You'll like this." Monifa's eyes were closed, lips parted slightly, and she swayed as the rhythm and melody upstairs began anew. The sounds seemed to touch something deeper inside Ayo, reminding her of home and loneliness and _need_, and she let her eyes fall shut.

Monifa took her hand, squeezed it. They listened in silence.

* * *

Jonathan poured his soul out through the bow and into the steera strapped to his upper arm left forearm. The tuning rings of the steera's handle, held in his left palm, seemed to turn without his bidding them, the strings further down vibrating and coalescing to a tune he did not know and yet felt a slave to. Bidden by the melancholy melody, he closed his eyes and swirled on the spot, letting his heartstrings take him wherever they wished.

A deep breath.

A tug of the bow.

A sharp crescendo.

_Release_.

Minutes passed in an epiphany of song. Jonathan felt a true smile grace his face, tugging at his closed eyes, and then a thump sounded on the lift door.

Jonathan stopped mid-note, glancing across the room. The doors weren't opening. Whoever was out there hadn't come invited, it would seem, or prepared. Anyone wanting to visit would have made their presence known in the building's foyer through the intercom. Jonathan checked the panel in the wall. No waiting messages.

So now he had an uninvited guest to deal with. Joy.

Another thump, this time contriving to sound angry. Jonathan took a step toward the doors, determinably not flinching when they rattled with another direct hit. He stripped off the steera, untying each strap with annoyed precision, and he threw the bow and the steera down on the bed. With a quick twist on the balls of his feet, Jonathan came around the bed and advanced on the doors, pistol held loosely in his right hand.

He came to a halt with his back to the wall on the right side of the door, his left thumb stroking the lift's control. Like all other controls in the apartment, it was operated by thumb print. Only Jacobyte and Jonathan could open these doors, as it had been scanned to their prints, only them.

Depending on the nature of this visitor – another thump, Jonathan heard something slide to the ground – Jonathan might just have to shoot seven types of hell out of them: he was in that kind of mood.

Jonathan pressed down with his thumb.

The doors slid open.

Jonathan came around whirling, pistol searching for a target... And then he stopped short.

He hadn't expected _this_.

* * *

**Author note:** In my head, the tune Jonathan's playing sounds like Apocalyptica's cover of _Nothing Else Matters_, which is beautiful and very much full of cellos...


	7. It Boils Down to This

**Author note:** Sweet mercy. This chapter is going to get a little... well... Oh, you'll see. Reviews? You can tell me how cracked my brain is, if you like. I'm telling myself enough, believe me!

* * *

**Chapter Seven – It Boils Down to This**

Several minutes after Jonathan had left the apartment, Jacobyte felt a bead of water land on his cheek. He raised a hand, marvelled at the tiny drop. Another followed it. Then another. The heavens descended.

Jacobyte swore.

Several minutes more after Jonathan had left, Jacobyte stood glowering from inside the dry safety of the apartment windows. It wasn't even noon; Jacobyte despaired. All his hopes of a good day were well and truly spent now. He put his hand to the glass, rested his forehead on that and let loose a sigh, watching the warm moisture in it mist across the cool glass.

Too similar. Trapped inside like this. Too similar. He needed to get out – not out of the apartment, mind you; that in itself wasn't the problem – Jacobyte wanted out of his head. Some freedom from the thoughts that plagued and hissed, nurturing his doubts.

He grabbed his hat, shucked on his coat and left.

* * *

Midday found Jacobyte sat in Rathy's bar, a chilled glass (Rathy had cleaned it extra special, see? Look at that algae! It'll put hairs on your chest!) of hyper-vodka dripping condensation down through the fingers clenched around said glass.

"No Jonathan, then?" said Rathy. Devoid of more willing and chatty customers, he'd just have to settle with Holster's surly partner. Rathy eyed the glass he'd already refilled twice. "Hair of the dog?"

"What?"

"You two were at the Baladin all hours, or so I heard. If you want to make that headache go away—" Rathy paused, prodded Jacobyte's head for emphasis before the man could protest "—then you'll need more than second rate vodka."

"You served me second rate?" Jacobyte's eyes were a challenge. "You served me sub-standard?"

Rathy shrugged. Honesty could make the most unlikely of bedfellows. "Of course. Come on, it's the middle of the day, and you're obviously trying to drown whatever sorrows you feel need a dunk, and you're bound to be attempting for some time – so sure, I served up the shit. Not even second rate, really. That'd be a kindness, calling it that." Rathy picked up Jacobyte's now empty glass, spat in it and began to clean.

Jacobyte's repulsed expression probably shouldn't have been as amusing as Rathy thought it was. His head spines fluttered, and he leaned over the bar in what could only be described as a conspiratorial manner. Jacobyte leaned in too, his curiosity piqued.

"If I'm right," Rathy said slowly, "you're after more than just simple, mind numbing alcohol."

Jacobyte nodded, mute.

"If I'm right, what you crave is... perspective."

Jacobyte nodded again, eyes bright, rising from the dullness of the vodka.

"I can serve you perspective, if I'm right." Rathy drew back, added, "And if you want to risk it."

"I want to risk it," said Jacobyte.

Rathy's spines fluttered again, his hands twisting together around the dish cloth. "Perspective it is." He leaned low under the bar, Jacobyte heard a series of clicks followed by one dull thud. Rathy stood. Jacobyte stared.

"What the hell's that?"

Rathy placed the dull, almost ordinary looking bottle on the bar between them. "This, my friend, is Bolurae. Perspective in a two inch serving glass."

"Doesn't look like much," said Jacobyte.

"Well, it wouldn't." A small smile. "Still interested?"

Jacobyte took a moment to sort out his thoughts. The vodka was wearing off even now, and he could almost think clearly. It hurt, in a way. He opened the box labelled 'Jonathan' and thought hard.

"I'm interested."

Rathy poured some of the light, clear purple liquid into a glass, taking extra care not to spill any. It seemed to shimmer oddly in the bar's dull light.

"How much is that going to cost me?" asked Jacobyte. Rathy waved away his question.

"First glass is on the house. After that..." He popped a bubble between his lips. "We'll see."

Jacobyte brought the glass to his mouth and sniffed the Bolurae cautiously. What felt like a cool, calm breeze, like it had just blown in from the shore back on Boeshane, drifted up his nose, crystallising around his senses. Rathy watched his reaction closely, and aware of this observation, Jacobyte took another sniff.

The boy behind Rathy smiled a tight lipped smile. Jacobyte nearly fell off his barstool. "The fuck?"

"Drink," said Rathy.

"No," said Jacobyte, voice shaking. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes the boy had gone. "You tell me what the hell that was."

"What did you see?"

"He's dead. He's lost."

"Whoever this 'he' is, he lives on in your memory though, yeah?"

"Always," said Jacobyte.

"Then there's your answer," said Rathy. "_Drink_."

Jacobyte swallowed the Bolurae in one long, drawn out gulp. A rich dark sweetness permeated up through the roof of his mouth and along his nose, clouding behind his vision. His head reeled.

"Breathe," came Rathy's distant voice.

He closed his eyes, fighting the growing pressure.

"Breathe. You need to relax."

Jacobyte clenched his fists. Unable to move. Unable to think. Unable to do anything but _feel_.

"Let go," Rathy whispered, right by his ear.

Jacobyte let go. He opened his eyes. A rough gasp. Colour flooded his vision. Bright and shimmering, purple highlights to everything before him. His breathing came in fits and starts.

"How's that?" said Rathy.

"I..." What were words for a place like this? Jacobyte didn't need words; to be tied down by pattern and descriptive meter. It was wrong. It was _wrong_. It was...

Two words. Two necessary words for the vision in front of him.

"Thank you," Jacobyte murmured.

Rathy pushed the bottle into his hand, came around the bar and guided him to his feet. "Don't mention it."

Gray and Jonathan, distorted as Jacobyte's eyes filled with unshed tears, stood by the door. Waiting for him. They looked so happy.

"They look so happy," Jacobyte told Rathy. Rathy glanced at the doorway, at the empty space there. "They look so happy, and I just ruin everything."

"Make amends, then," said Rathy.

"I can't."

"Sure you can," said Gray.

Rathy held the door open for him, walking right through Jonathan and Gray's visions. Jacobyte blinked and tried to make sense of it all. "Go out," said Rathy. "See the world. It's stopped raining, you see that?"

Rainbows shimmered from every drying drop as Jacobyte looked out into the street beyond. A corona of peace. "I see it," he managed to say around the welter of emotions. Suddenly he wished everyone could see as he did right now. To ignore the inhibitions that told you to be dull and annoyed, and just _feel_. The glimpses of incomplete happiness as people walked by him on the street, their withered smiles and the shards of broken hopes behind them. Jacobyte looked up into the sky, confused as to why the clouds were not still weeping with the injustice of it all.

He stepped out onto the road, Gray and Jonathan on either side. "What first?" he asked them. These were the people of his dreams. The ones that didn't scream or hate or deny him. The ones he hoped understood. A brief confusion reigned as to why Jonathan was one of those people, but Jacobyte brushed that aside. It didn't matter.

"It's up to you," said Jonathan. "It's always been up to you." A wry grin. Jacobyte loved that grin. "We follow in your wake, oh wise leader."

"I'm not a leader."

"You will be," Gray said with unnerving conviction. "A leader of many."

Jacobyte crouched down beside him. "Where do you get that idea from?"

"Look at yourself," said Jonathan. "Deny it."

Jacobyte turned. His reflection sans Jonathan and Gray stared back with mournful eyes, framed by the window's edge. Once upon a time those eyes sparkled with laughter and joyfulness. Gone now. All gone. When he turned back around, Yami had taken Gray's place, sitting cross legged on the pavement.

"Well?" she said.

"I don't understand any of this."

"Do you need to?" said Jonathan.

Jacobyte shook his head. Yami stood and took Jonathan's hand, leading them both away from Jacobyte and down the street. A hover-buggy sped past, and then they were gone. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and then a sip of the Bolurae.

The world shimmered. Jacobyte smiled and walked off, following the ghosts of his past.

* * *

The fall of the leaves in Pepperost Park. The innocent, the evil and the lost, enjoying the sunshine. Jacobyte watched with tears in his eyes.

* * *

Lighting his Winylum cigarette seemed to take a lifetime. And what a good life it was too. Flickering flame. The lilting scent of the tobacco, of temptation.

"We had good times, didn't we, Jackie?" asked Jonathan.

"We did."

"Are you going to throw that away?"

"I'm not trying to throw anything away," said Jacobyte. "I can just feel it falling apart, right under our feet."

"Like ice?"

"Like ice. It's the two of us, and we can't spread our weight enough. We're going to fall through unless one of us makes a move."

"And it won't be me," Jonathan told him. "You can see it in my eyes. I'm not going to let go willingly."

"No."

Two pale fingers rose – Jacobyte recognised them as his own after a few seconds of doubt – and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, soft grey smoke leaking out from between his purple stained lips. Entranced by the wreathing mist, he let the Jonathan Predicament slide past for the mean time. He put Jonathan Holster back in his mental box. Got out the next. He blinked. Jonathan was replaced.

"Big brother," said the boy.

"Gray."

Gray tilted his head, the sun goggles around his neck jostling from side to side as he fidgeted. "What are you calling yourself these days?"

"Jacobyte. Do you like it?"

"It's okay, I guess. Nothing like your real name, but it'll have to do."

"I miss my real name. There's no one left but you and me who know it, you know."

"I know," said Gray. He measured Jacobyte up, sitting opposite him on the bench. "You haven't given up, then?"

"I _will_ find you."

"Good." Gray leaned forward, tucked his short legs up onto the seat and he crawled across to Jacobyte. "Don't take too long. Promise me. Promise yourself."

"I promise."

Another blink. Another mental box. Crispin Ishwarah glared. "This is getting beyond now."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Let me _go_. It wasn't your fault."

"It was," Jacobyte mumbled.

Crispin raised his hand as if to slap Jacobyte, and he flinched. The hit never came. "It wasn't," Crispin assured him. "You've just held this guilt for so long you feel that if you let it go—"

"Yeah." A pained smile. "Yeah, you're right."

Crispin smiled. "Of course I am. Me and Yami, we're brilliant."

"You are. You were. I miss you both."

"You're abandoning my sister already? Stop giving up. You're always giving up."

"I'm not!"

"Alright," said Jonathan, suddenly behind Crispin. "That's enough. Shove off, little man." Jacobyte blinked, and he and Jonathan were alone. Jonathan rested his head in his hands, glancing up across at Jacobyte every few seconds. "I only touched the surface, didn't I?"

"Kind of." Jacobyte shrugged. Took another pull of the cigarette. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise," said Jonathan. "It's beneath someone like you."

Jacobyte scoffed. "What I wouldn't give to have you say that to my face."

"I would, though, if you'd let me." A sad look passed over Jonathan's face, making Jacobyte want to either kiss or punch him. Maybe both. "But you won't let me."

"No."

"I love you."

"I know," Jacobyte said softly.

"Do you love me?"

"I don't know." Jacobyte took another pull of the Bolurae and leaned backward on the bench, staring up at the sky. "I don't know," he told the clouds. The sun began to sink behind the opposite horizon, and Jacobyte felt a chill descend over the park, niggling under the edges of his coat, making bumps rise across his exposed skin.

The sunset, a crimson and tangerine smear across the skyline, almost blinded him with its horrific brilliance. That kind of sight... Nature had no idea about style, and wasn't it just wonderful.

Jacobyte exhaled. Let more out than just the air in his lungs. Smiled. Time to go home, wherever home was.

* * *

Opposite from the building Jacobyte and Jonathan inhabited, Jacobyte lurked in a doorway and watched the nightlife flit by.

A familiar figure entered his line of sight wearing an unfamiliar coat. Jacobyte nodded appreciatively. The black, long leather suited Jonathan, and he watched him enter the building, disappear into the lift. A woman with light brown skin rushed after him, calling something out that Jacobyte couldn't hear.

He sipped from the bottle of Bolurae and shuddered as a wave of sensation clawed out from his throat, around his neck and down his spine. He straightened up. Closed his eyes. Hummed to himself. When he looked again, the woman, Jonathan and the lift had gone. The world had gone. All the buildings and everything insignificant. He saw emotions walking past, not people, just what they felt...

Anger shot him a glare. He smiled, hoping Anger would learn.

Resentment looked surly, head tucked down low, staring at the ground. Jacobyte wished he could help Resentment, teach him to let go.

Innocence was the only one who'd meet his searching gaze. Jacobyte nodded to Innocence, thanked her for all she'd done, apologised for how he'd betrayed her so often.

Gaiety danced on by, not sparing a glance at Jacobyte, and he wanted to follow after, get lost in that beating rhythm. The thud of his heart stayed Jacobyte's feet, though, and he tapped to that instead, watching Gaiety disappear into the scrum of the night.

The lights of the penthouse suite switched on, turning the building into a beacon on high; a searchlight. Jacobyte wondered what it was searching for, hoped it was him. His wrist strap bleeped, and he ignored it. Laughter wandered up to him, the soft lilt of her chuckles like a corona of joy, and Jacobyte joined in, loving the way Laughter seemed so delighted to have company, in as much the same way as he was.

A breath.

A moment.

An instant in time.

The sharp edge of fate cleaving the future from the past...

Jacobyte crossed the street.

He ducked into the building, twirling around Kindness as they held the door open for him and he bobbing a flamboyant bow of gratitude. Kindness just nodded. Jacobyte took another sip of the Bolurae, watched Kindness take another form, and all of a sudden Jonathan's face was there and Jacobyte had had enough and everything whirled and twisted, his vision listing oddly—

"Are you alright?" asked the receptionist.

"Fine," Jacobyte said through what he hoped were still his lips. "Thanks for asking." He stumbled into the lift doors, the receptionist having already opened them. "Thanks for... for asking..."

The lift ascended, reached the top floor. Jacobyte had just enough control to reach for the thumb pad that would allow him entry to Jonathan's apartment, but then a burst of sound stilled him.

What was _that_?

The whine of strings, coruscating through the lift doors. Jacobyte drank from the bottle desperately, like a drowning man searching for the wrong kind of air.

The whine became noise for a second as his vision sparked and flared, and then the noise formed into song.

Music.

Melody.

_Soul._

The clamour of it all assailed Jacobyte's senses, the rhythm wrapping itself around his arms, making them limp. It filled his head. Notes danced before his eyes, gleaming and wreathing until he began to cry. Silent tears. Silent and stoic and juxtaposed with the nonstop emotion that drifted through the lift doors in flats and sharps and heart wrenching crescendos.

He slumped against the doors.

The music stopped. _No_, he wanted to cry out. Couldn't find the words to do so. _Don't stop. Please_. His hand formed a fist, and he slammed it into the lift door in a desperate plea for more. _More_.

Footsteps, his ears hissed at him, trying to get his attention. The sound of footsteps! He ignored his ears, drowning out their insistence with more Bolurae and plain _sensation_. He battered the door once more, pleading for the heart wrenching sound again. Then his knees gave out.

The doors opened. Jacobyte was dimly aware of shoes beside his head, the click of a pistol above him.

_Inconsequential_.

"Jacobyte?!"

* * *

**Author note the second: **Bolurae is the creation of Galadriel1010. If you've read her NaNoWriMo story _Gravitational Potential_, you may recognise it from there. If you haven't read it? Do so! Best goddamn parallel Ianto story there is.


	8. Conservation of Momentum

**Author note:** If any of you don't know, LiquidLash is a maths geek as well as a Doctor Who/Torchwood nerd, and she likes the sound of pretty words! Mechanics lessons FTW.

* * *

**Chapter Eight – Conservation of Momentum**

"Jacobyte!" No response. Jonathan's knees buckled with stricken worry, and he gathered Jacobyte's unresponsive body in his arms, peered closely at his face. "Jackie?"

A faint sniffle.

"Hey Jon'than," Jacobyte mumbled through lips stained lilac. Jonathan stared.

"Jacobyte, what have you done?"

"I wen' out f'r a drink."

"Yes, I can see that, but what did you—" The bottle fell from Jacobyte's twitching hand, and Jonathan stared. "No," he mouthed. "Not that. Anything but— Oh, Jacobyte, you _idiot_!"

Jacobyte burst into fresh tears. His eyes wheeled, not focusing on anything. Jonathan cradled him further, holding Jacobyte tight against his chest, rocking away the sobs until Jacobyte was as close to calm as he'd ever be.

The _idiot_. "Jacobyte, why?"

"Why wha'?"

"Bolurae, Jacobyte." He picked up the bottle and brandished it in Jacobyte's face. "_This_."

"I... I..."

Jonathan could tell he wasn't going to get anything comprehensible out of him now. He looked at the bottle again. Almost empty. How long had he been drinking?

It was all happening again.

_Mistakes in your past_.

Damn it! Damn _him _for doing this now!

Jonathan forced himself to be calm. Just like with his mother, all those years ago. "Jacobyte, I'm going to get you to stand now, okay?"

"'kay," mumbled Jacobyte. "Don' lemme fall."

"I won't." Shaking hands clutched at Jonathan's waist as he pulled Jacobyte up. Feeble strength but effort nonetheless. "That's good. You're doing good."

Jacobyte moaned. "Stop."

Jonathan stopped. Waited. "What?"

"Stop... Stop being kind. It hurts."

"What hurts, poppet?"

"The kindness," said Jacobyte. Jonathan was supporting his full weight now, his eyes level for once with Jacobyte's. There was pain in there. Deep pain. Jonathan hadn't seen him look like this since the early days of the time loop. A broken whisper of, "Stop" and Jonathan tightened his hold, dragging Jacobyte into the apartment. "Stop it!"

"No."

"Please, don't—"

Jonathan sent a ringing slap toward Jacobyte's cheek, regretting it almost immediately. "Jackie, _you_ stop. I'm helping you whether you like it or not."

"But—"

"No!" He pressed a kiss to the salty trails of dried tears. Gentle. Forgiving in a way he didn't feel. "No, Jacobyte, no."

"Why won't you stop?" Jacobyte whispered, eyes panicked. Jonathan didn't think it was him Jacobyte saw. Some vision, perhaps. When his mother had gotten into Bolurae she'd said she saw things... differently...

Better but worse, she'd told him when he'd found her with the bottle.

The next day he'd found her with a gun.

"Because I'm not letting you do this to yourself," said Jonathan. He reached the bed, shifted aside the steera and its bow, and then laid Jacobyte across the bed. He curled up, shuddering. Jonathan crawled onto the covers beside him and tried not to feel like crying himself. "Jacobyte, are you listening to me?"

Jacobyte nodded. He grabbed a pillow and shoved his face into it. Nodded again.

"Can you look at me?"

Jacobyte shook his head.

Patience, Jonathan reminded himself. "Why not?"

"Jus' wanna sleep."

Maybe that would be for the best, thought Jonathan. "Alright then," he said, pulling at the blankets, draping them over Jacobyte. "But we talk later, yeah?"

Another shake.

"Jacobyte, you can't keep running."

"Can," said Jacobyte, voice muffled.

"Can't."

Another shake, another muffled protest. "Can. I can."

Jonathan felt his patience dwindle. He took a deep breath. Shoved his emotions aside.

"Sleep now, Jackie."

The pillow moved aside. Jacobyte stared up at him, eyes wide and rimmed with red. In a startlingly clear and calm voice, he said, "Do you love me?"

Jonathan blinked. "Where did that come from?"

"Do you love me," Jacobyte said again.

"I'll talk to you when you're sober, if it's all the same." Jonathan settled the bed sheets rather more forcefully around Jacobyte, each tug laden with suppressed... it wasn't anger he was suppressing anymore. It was emotion in general. To deal with this he had to be empty. Void. A shell.

Jacobyte's hand searched for his across the covers. Gripped, clenched. Eyes searching.

Jonathan didn't have anything left to give.

"Sleep, " he said, trying not to beg. The pressure on his hand decreased as Jacobyte slipped into what would prove to be one of the worst nights of his life.

* * *

Screaming ripped through Jonathan's head, infiltrating his reasonably peaceful dreamscape, twisting viciously into his sense of release. He woke with a start, sitting upright, and Jacobyte continued to thrash beside him.

"Fuck," he whispered. In a louder voice he said, "Jacobyte?"

More thrashing. Jonathan was in serious danger of being maimed if this carried on.

"Jacobyte? Wake up now, love."

"—coming for us," Jacobyte called through slack lips, "the screams—"

"Come on, wake up."

"—can't save, always lost—"

"Jacobyte!"

"—not me, take me, save—"

Jonathan rolled over to the beside cabinet, grabbed the glass of water there and, because no other option seemed to be presenting itself, upended it over Jacobyte's head.

Jacobyte gave a short, sharp shriek of surprise, and Jonathan could tell he was fully awake now because both hands immediately flew to where his pistols should have been had Jonathan not removed them earlier. Jacobyte wasn't good with shocking wakeup calls. Jonathan had learned this after the second time, when Jacobyte, roused unwillingly, had managed to get him by the throat with a gun pressed to his temple until he apologised.

The next day Jonathan had just made sure to hide the guns. But now wasn't the time for jokes. Jacobyte's eyes flared in the murk, and Jonathan swallowed, an involuntary action.

"Jaco— Mmph!" Water dripped onto his face as Jacobyte pressed him down to the sheets, keeping him silent with a desperate kiss. Hands roamed down Jonathan's sides, and he kissed Jacobyte back with as much surprised passion as he could muster.

Which was, actually, quite a lot.

"So beautiful," Jacobyte murmured against his lips. "So beautiful."

"As much as I love drunken compliments, I— fuck!" Jacobyte pushed his hand further down into Jonathan's trousers. Jonathan felt his eyes roll back into his head, and Jacobyte stilled for a moment, watching. "Don't stop?"

"Beautiful."

"Fuck beautiful," Jonathan all but snapped. Jacobyte undid both their trousers, sliding bare flesh together, and he sank into Jonathan's neck. Sloppy kiss after sloppy kiss that Jonathan tried to reciprocate, but Jacobyte wasn't having any of it.

"God, so beautiful," he whispered, flicking his tongue out to taste Jonathan's ear. Jonathan shuddered. "Crispin. So beautiful."

The world collapsed, Jonathan frozen at its centre. He stilled, heart stuttering in his chest. Jacobyte continued to kiss along his jaw, unaware of the turmoil Jonathan endured.

Enough. Fucking _enough_.

Jonathan shoved Jacobyte backward with a bark of rage, of frustration.

"What's wrong?" said Jacobyte. He sat in a bewildered heap on the other side of the bed. Eyes glassy. Jonathan actually took a moment to wonder just what he was seeing. "Did I do something wrong?"

Jonathan tried to remember how to behave. Empty. Be a shell. Devoid of emotion—

A broken whisper. "I can't do this."

"Can't do what?" Jacobyte asked, confused. "Crispin?"

Jonathan whirled off the bed, swearing to himself in half choked sobs.

"Crispin?"

How had this day gone back to hell so quickly? Jonathan pounded the bedroom wall as he passed it, practically diving onto the sofa. He hid himself in the pillows, squeezing them between his arms in the hope that they'd hold him together, because he couldn't do it anymore. _FuckfuckfuckSHITcan'tletmyselfbecomethisagain_.

"Can't do it," he told the cushion. "Won't let myself. Got to pull together. Pull together."

He heard Jacobyte get off the bed and pad across into the living area. Didn't look up. Didn't want to look up. Maybe he'd fall asleep here and never wake up. That might be nice.

He heard Jacobyte clear his throat. "What did I do?"

"Just..." So much for being resolved. Jonathan sighed and glanced up, saw Jacobyte's unfocussed confusion. "Just go the fuck away, Jackie."

Silence.

And then...

"Shit," Jacobyte whispered, face cracking down the middle. Understanding. "Oh _shit_!"

"That would about cover it," said Jonathan.

"I didn't—"

"But you did. Look, go back to bed. I'll stay here."

* * *

"Just go away, Jackie..."

Jacobyte blinked. Crispin's pleading face ran, the colours smearing, framed by lashes. He blinked again. Focus. "Shit. Oh, shit!" He hadn't, had he?

"That would about cover it."

He had. _Shit._ "I didn't—"

Jonathan cut him off. "But you did," he said. The scathing roughness of his voice became hollow. Weary. "Look, go back to bed. I'll stay here."

Stay or go. Right or wrong. Forgiveness or denial.

Jacobyte twitched in the doorway. "Jonathan. I'm sorry, I didn't—"

A gust of breath. Jonathan threw aside the cushion he'd been... Had Jonathan been cuddling that cushion? Jacobyte tried to focus on the present. On the important. "Don't worry about it, Jackie," said Jonathan. "Really. Go back to sleep. Dream about your damned ghosts and leave me be."

Jacobyte closed the distance between them and knelt by the sofa. Jonathan picked the cushion back up and pressed his face into it again.

"Jonathan," said Jacobyte.

"Jonathan isn't here right now," came the muffled voice. "But if you'd like to leave your name and the planet on which you can be contacted, he'll be happy to tell you were to shove it."

Jacobyte really wished his head wasn't spinning. Everything still had a slight purple shimmer to it. He blinked, tried to clear his vision. For a moment Jonathan was blonde, then Gray sat behind him, smiling sadly, and then Jonathan was alone again. Jacobyte clenched his fists. "Jonathan. Please. I'm—" Jacobyte opened and closed his eyes, gasping when Regret replaced Jonathan on the sofa. He blinked again. "I'm sorry," he managed to say, forcing himself to _focus_.

The cushion didn't move.

"Jonathan, I can't think, I just— I just— _please_, can you—" The cushion shifted aside, and Jonathan's hands snaked out, catching Jacobyte's face and cupping his cheeks. Fresh tears escaped his eyes. "I want— I want to, but I can't, and you're not— you aren't—"

"Oh for—" Jonathan grinned a reluctant smile. "Do you ever stop?"

"Not really, no."

"Come here, you great big idiot."

Jacobyte collapsed in Jonathan's arms with almost embarrassing relief. Wriggled closer. Jonathan stroked his hair. "When you're sober," said Jonathan. "And I mean _sober _– no way in hell am I letting you touch that Bolurae shit again – when you're sober, we are going to talk."

Jacobyte nodded into Jonathan's chest. He didn't have the heart to say he'd spent the entire day talking; Jonathan wouldn't want to hear _that_.

* * *

Something was prodding his arm. Jonathan? Jonathan was prodding his arm. And saying something, it seemed. Jacobyte scrunched his eyes tighter shut and tried to make sense of the garbled noise.

Slowly...

"—up, Jacobyte, you _have_ to get up now. Don't make me douse you again. Because I will." A sharper prod. Jacobyte winced. "Jacobyte!"

"Wsfrglpt."

"Good morning, star shine."

Jacobyte opened his eyes, screamed and then shut them again.

"Bolurae and hyper vodka do not a happy ever after make," said Jonathan. Damn him, he almost sounded smug. "How's your head?"

Jacobyte repeated the opening of the eyelids and screaming routine.

"That bad, huh?"

"Concrete. Pop rocks. Bleeding balls of sassafras and gargoyles with a side order of hellfire."

"Interesting..."

"Painful."

"Drink this." Jacobyte felt cool glass touch his fingers, and he grasped the cup tightly. "Keep your eyes shut. They look like death." Jonathan steered the rim of it to his mouth and fiery liquid washed down his throat. He choked. "Ah-ah!" said Jonathan. "Drink it all."

Jacobyte responded by snorting some out of his nose. That burned too as it trailed down to his lips. Dignified. He moaned, croaked, rasped. "What the hell is that stuff?"

"Just swallow, alright?" urged Jonathan. "Trust me. You trust me?"

Yes, Jacobyte wanted to say; couldn't bring himself to. He sniffled mournfully. Coughed and hacked. The glass rim pressed again to his lips, and then Jonathan's fingers were squeezing his nose shut, cutting off his air, forcing him to swallow the burning drink as he struggled, feeble and groggy. Jonathan released his hold when the glass was finally empty, and Jacobyte reeled backward, gasping for air and maybe just a little bit for sanity. "Are you trying to kill me?!"

"How's the head?"

"I—" Jacobyte opened his eyes. "Oh."

A wry, slightly out of focus smile appeared on Jonathan's face. "Go have a shower. Brush your teeth. I'll get us some food."

"Thanks," Jacobyte whispered. He didn't deserve any of this, and didn't he just know it. "Thank you, Jonathan."

"Don't mention it." He left the room, and after a few moments Jacobyte heard the sound of clanking pots, the hum of the sonic hob. Cooking. Jonathan was _cooking_.

What was that bit about searching for sanity?


	9. Classified

**Author note:** We'll start with a big ol' THANK YOU to everyone who's reviewed or favourite or put this on alerts. Now on with the actual note. Does anyone else want to just bang these two guys heads together? Make them see sense? 'cause I sure do...

Also I'm trying to do a chapter every two days at the moment, each chapter around 2,000 or more words like in _And Then Some_ 'cause NaNoWriMo seems to have broken me like that XD

* * *

**Chapter Nine – Classified**

The hiss of the shower caught Jonathan's attention, and he finally relaxed. That special kind of sudden, unexpected ease where you haven't realised you've been so tense you could pass for a wigwam until it goes away. At least Jacobyte knew who Jonathan was this morning. And he wasn't suicidal.

Always a bonus.

As an afterthought, Jonathan rummaged through the kitchen, removing and hiding all the sporks. Running jokes about culinary related suicidal tendencies aside, there was no way he could try to push Jacobyte now. Pushing and shoving only got you so far. Perhaps the best way to play this situation was just to... let it be...

God, Jonathan just wanted to curl into Jacobyte's side like he'd done so many times before, exchanging whispered, sappy sentiments. He'd be happy then. Look like an idiot, sure, but a happy idiot at that.

Fried mess. That's what a morning like this called for. Greasy, fried stodge.

* * *

It was as Jonathan was adding the final touches to both plates that he heard his own voice drifting out of the bedroom.

The message he'd left last night.

Snap.

Jacobyte wandered into the kitchen, blinking blearily and wearing a pair of ratted but nevertheless rather comfy and strangely fetching trousers. He held up his wrist strap. Replayed the message. Jonathan winced in recognition of the desperation in his recorded voice. "What's this about?" said Jacobyte.

"Tulsen jumped me yesterday."

"Oh yeah?"

That twinkle in Jacobyte's eye. Damn him, did he know how irresistible he was?

"Yeah," said Jonathan, ignoring Jacobyte's eyebrow waggle. He gestured to the table, put both plates down. Jacobyte stared at the lack of cutlery.

"Bare hands today, is it?"

"I don't trust you around sporks. You get ideas."

Jacobyte snorted. "Fair enough." He rolled some of the steaming, coagulating mess up into a sticky ball and popped it into his mouth.

It crunched as he bit down, and his sigh was one of pure, cholesterol poisoning bliss.

"Nice?" prompted Jonathan.

"Heaven."

"Good."

"So, Tulsen jumped you, did he?"

"Me and Lindsa saw him getting an earful off one of those Management guys."

"Management? I hate them. Uppity shits and creepy buggers to boot."

"Couldn't have put it better myself. Although this one did have a rather nice arse. But I digress. The upshot of the exchange is that we're being sent out again. On a mission. Next week."

Jacobyte choked on his food. Jonathan arched a disdainful eyebrow at the spray of crumbs and other various unidentifiable food pieces.

"A week?" said Jacobyte.

"A week."

"But that's—"

Jonathan cut him off. "I know. I told Tulsen that." Jonathan folded his arms, prodded the edge of his plate. "Seems Management have him tied. He doesn't want us out there anymore than we do."

Jacobyte swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. "Do you know what this elusive mission is?"

"Not a damn clue. We're going in today, to the Agency, like I said in the message. Briefing and then a few training sessions, or at least I'm assuming that's what'll happen."

"Fun."

"Isn't it just."

"You're not eating."

Jonathan flicked his gaze from plate to plate. Affected a withering tone. "Where'd you get that idea from, eh?"

"You need to eat."

"I'm not the one that got off and out of his head last night, so excuse me if I ignore your better judgement for the time being."

"Jonathan."

"Jacobyte."

"Eat."

Jonathan pushed his plate across the tale. "You. You need it," he said. "I'm not hungry." He got up from the table. Jacobyte blinked at him, questioning. "I need a shower as well," Jonathan explained. "Got to get the stink of dried Bolurae off me somehow."

"I _am_ sorry," said Jacobyte as Jonathan was just out the door.

Jonathan pretended not to hear.

* * *

They walked to the agency in silence, brokered only by the stamp of cold feet in complaint at the sudden chill that seemed to have descended overnight. The stony silences emphasised further by the odd furtive glace shot between them. On Jacobyte's part this was because he had so much on his mind that he couldn't even begin to find the words to express it all, and on Jonathan's because he didn't want to hear even one word of it.

Major Tulsen met them by the side gate, bright eyed and bushy—

Well. He was bushy.

"Major," said Jonathan by way of greeting. Tulsen nodded to him.

"Sir," was all Jacobyte felt he _could_ say. The hangover was making itself known again. Splitting pain between his furrowed brows. The dappled sunlight lancing across his vision.

Tulsen looked from Jacobyte's grimace to Jonathan's peevish grin. "All well?"

"Just brilliant, sir," said Jonathan. He took Jacobyte by the hand and followed when Tulsen led them into the complex. "Come on, gramps," he said to Jacobyte. "Long way to go yet."

"You got anymore of that magic restorative?"

"Not on me." Jonathan gestured to his pockets and the lack of glasses in them. "But if you get me in a kitchen I'm sure I could whip something up, if you liked."

"Yes. Please," Jacobyte said through gritted teeth. Jonathan grinned some more.

Tulsen led them through several courtyards and around the main office building to the training halls beyond.

"Hang on," said Jonathan. "Aren't we getting briefed first?"

"Nope," said Tulsen. A group of flushed and sweating cadets exited the hall nearest them, and Tulsen made a beeline to the closing door, getting there in time for one of the surprised teenagers to hold it open for him. "First you can warm up. You know, get the energy flowing. This afternoon someone will be along to further test your capabilities."

"And we're doing all this without knowing where we're being sent, _when_ we're being sentor what we'll be doing?"

"Pretty much," said Tulsen. He contrived to look apologetic. Jacobyte, lost in a world where ordinary sounds felt like earthquakes, shattering his ear drums and senses into stardust, ignored all of this.

Tulsen glanced at him again. "Captain?"

"Eh?"

To Jonathan, "Is he alright?"

"In awe, sir, to be in your presence, sir," said Jonathan. "It's too much for him."

Tulsen barked a laugh. "I'll leave you to it. Not one else should disturb you – hall's pre-booked. Those cadets just leaving got merrily kicked out."

"As gladdened as my heart is to find myself and the good captain worthy of such attentions," Jonathan began. Tulsen beat him to it.

"You want to know what the mission is?"

"Sir."

"I'm sorry, Holster. Really am. Can't tell you a thing."

He left them to it. Jonathan turned to find Jacobyte glowering at a flower.

"Umm," said Jonathan. "Should I ask?"

"Is that purple or pink?" said Jacobyte, indicating the flower. Jonathan mulled this over. "Okay, see," Jacobyte continued, "I'm trying to work out if I've gone colour blind..." He straightened up, tried to grin and ended up in another grimace.

"The flower is green, Jacobyte. Conclusions?"

"The sky should not be spinning," Jacobyte said triumphantly.

Jonathan sighed, took his arm again and dragged him inside.

* * *

Stacks of clothing in various different sizes, shades and limb preferences lined the hallway. Jonathan picked up a few at random and threw them to Jacobyte. "You go get changed, I'll hunt down the kitchen unit thingy. Whip you up some miracle cure."

"Do I get to know what's in it?"

"Aww," said Jonathan. "You're cute when you're paranoid." Jacobyte aimed a sweatshirt at his head, and he ducked it easily. "That all you got?"

The training shoe, however, hit him square in the face.

"Really?" he said, rubbing his cheek. That'd definitely leave a bruise.

"Really," said Jacobyte. Grin. Grin. Wince. Grimace. Grin.

Jonathan closed the space between then and walked around Jacobyte, smiling a sweet smile that Jacobyte didn't trust. Not for one second.

And with good reason.

Jonathan, now at his left shoulder, reared up suddenly on the tips of his toeas and shouted in Jacobyte's ear, "How's your head, granddad?!"

Jacobyte's knees buckled, and he swore later this was because his ear canal had imploded and exploded simultaneously. Jonathan patted his hair as he walked away. "Sit, Jackie. There's a good boy."

Jacobyte would have snarled if he knew where his mouth was. The searing ring in his ear diminished after a minute or so, and Jonathan returned not long after that. Pushed a cup into Jacobyte's grateful fingers.

"Worse before it gets better," he said, gesturing for Jacobyte to drink and drink fast. "This should tide you over until we start working out, then your body will flush out the toxins itself."

"Toxins?"

"Get with the programme, Jacobyte. Bolurae isn't a walk in the park. If we don't clean your body up you'll be regretting it for days. Weeks, even."

"Oh."

Jonathan knelt, piled the baggy tops and trousers in his lap, folded his arms above them. Sad, serious eyes. "Where did you get it?"

"Get what?"

Jacobyte knew exactly what he meant, Jonathan could tell. "The Bolurae," he said anyway. "Not easy to come by, even in a place like Glariyo."

"Why do you seem to know so much about it?"

"I just do."

And Jonathan could tell Jacobyte didn't believe _that_. Time for diversion tactics. "How's your right hook?"

"It's hooky," Jacobyte drawled. "Thanks for asking."

Jonathan divided the clothing up and gave Jacobyte half. He stood and offered his hand, helped Jacobyte to his feet, still shaky from a second round of 'kill the brain cell' hangover cure. "Well then," said Jonathan, "let's see if we can make it hooky-er!"

Jacobyte gave him a Look. "Have you heard yourself?"

Jonathan ignored this. He slung the trousers over his shoulder, twirled languidly and walked backwards, hips gyrating from side to side. Bat a few eyelashes. Curl a few fingers. Be temptation with a sucker punch and heavy, lidded eyes.

Jacobyte actually missed a step. Stumbled.

Grinning, Jonathan twisted on the ball of his right foot, came around to walk forwards, giving Jacobyte the most wonderful view of the dappled skin above Jonathan's waistband. The gentle bump at the base of his spine. The jut of his hipbones as he strode in long, drawn out steps down the corridor, heading in the direction of the changing room.

Jonathan heard Jacobyte take a rapid intake of air, and he revelled in the sound. Things like this also worked as a distraction. Tempting Jacobyte was nothing new. Fun as ever, but nothing new. Something comforting, something ordinary, something that, if not real, was close enough to be mistaken as such.

When Jonathan reached the changing room and pushed through the door, he flicked out with his foot to stop it only half open. Jacobyte was paying so much attention to the thin slice of Jonathan's exposed skin riding above the trousers and scintillating below today's short jacket, that he walked straight into it.

And howled.

Jonathan couldn't help the howl of laughter that escaped him in return. Jacobyte stopped, glared and took a shaky step toward Jonathan, making a snap decision to prove just how damned hooky his right hook was.


	10. Voyeurism, Schmoyeurism

**Author note:** If anyone wasn't previously aware, this story and also _And Then Some_ are part of the Transcendence 'verse: a timey-wimey, wibbly wobbly collaboration saga created by myself and the inestimable Galadriel1010.

We now have a Facebook page entitled The Transcendence 'verse for anyone wanting to keep up with updates across the 'verse and any randomness Galadriel1010 and myself might spew out. (Links to Facebook page and other Transcendence 'verse stories can be found in my profile)

We're good at random.

And with that in mind, on with the chapter!

* * *

**Chapter Ten – Voyeurism, Schmoyeurism**

Jacobyte and Jonathan drilled backward and forward across the hall, taking it in turns to aim punches at one another's hands. They'd done this in the time loop, back on Dringis. Just one of the various ways to lessen stress and get exercise...

Jonathan stepped backward panting. He waved Jacobyte's concern away. "Let's take a break."

"What? Why? We're doing alright—" A hand landed on his chest. Jacobyte looked along it into Jonathan's frown. "What?"

"We're not doing alright. Well, I say we, I mean you. You're holding back."

"I am not!" Jacobyte said hotly, and to prove it he lashed out with his fist, shoving Jonathan's arm away and to the side so he had a clear target.

Which had gone.

An arm snaked around his chest from behind, and Jacobyte felt Jonathan's knees jab into the back of his, making him buckle. He cried out in surprise. Before he could react or struggle, Jonathan caught hold of both his wrists and wrenched them backward, locking him in a full nelson. One shove and Jacobyte's face and upper chest hit the floor, Jonathan's body covering his, trapping him in an iron grip.

Jonathan hissed in his ear. "See? Holding back."

Jacobyte snarled.

"That's more like it." Jonathan twisted his arms more. "Again."

"Fuck you!"

"Ask nicely," said Jonathan. Jacobyte could hear the lascivious grin in his voice. "Or better still, don't."

"Wha—" His confusion earned him another twist. Incapacitated, Jacobyte moaned.

"Either stop struggling and take it like the whiny bitch you seem to be turning into, or—" Jonathan shifted his position, grinding his crotch along Jacobyte's arse "—or get out of this like I know you can. Teach me a lesson, Captain. Insubordination cannot be tolerated, you know that."

Jacobyte snarled again, bucking and struggling. But to no avail.

"No?" said Jonathan. "Come on, you're giving up that easily?"

Jacobyte stiffened as memories of the Bolurae vision came hurtling back into the forefront of his mind. All those pleading faces, and him at the centre, pleading for the universe to cut a guy a break. "I'm sorry," he whispered into the floor.

Jonathan almost didn't hear.

"What are you apologising for?" Jacobyte went limp in his arms. "Jacobyte? Jacobyte, you can't spend your life apologising. It's beneath you." And limper still. Jonathan began to worry; lessened his hold. "Jacobyte? Hey, speak to me, love."

No response. Jonathan could only just make out Jacobyte's stuttered breathing. He let go completely and stood up, waiting for Jacobyte to rise.

He stayed crouched on the floor.

"Jackie?"

Jonathan walked around him, kneeling beside Jacobyte's head and he tried to coax Jacobyte into looking up, his fingers slippery on Jacobyte's sweaty chin. "Are you al—"

Jacobyte rose with a growl, a fist connecting with Jonathan's cheek, silencing him.

"Fuck," gasped Jonathan. A punch to his chest, winding him. Another to his cheek as he stumbled backward. Jacobyte swung around, catching the back of Jonathan's knee with his foot, and it was suddenly Jonathan's turn to sprawl on the floor. Jacobyte knelt on his chest, gaining a muffled curse in return, and he wrenched Jonathan's hands above his head. "Fuck," Jonathan said again, because he felt like it needed saying.

"Ask nicely."

Jonathan grinned with a split lip. "Hell no." Jacobyte took both his wrists into one hand and grabbed Jonathan's chin with his other. This was more _like_ it. Jonathan laughed at Jacobyte's stern expression.

"Try that one more time?"

"Hell no, _sir._" He laughed again. Jacobyte reacted by leaning down and forcing Jonathan's lips to his. A violent kiss, all nipping teeth, battling tongues and nonstop cursing. "Remind me to get you angry more."

Jacobyte put his other hand back to Jonathan's wrists and then leaned in, suckling the sensitive skin of Jonathan's neck, branding him with a love bite. Jonathan hissed, grinned; bucked again.

* * *

Lindsa's breath fogged up the glass. She _had_ been doing a training run with today's batch of students, but they'd been unceremoniously booted out. She had just been clearing up the last bits and pieces of the session when Jacobyte and Jonathan entered from the opposite side of the hall. Ducking into the observation booth, Lindsa had watched them first shoot a few insults back and forth, quip about stamina and prowess of all sorts. The observation booth consisted of several chairs before a one way mirror. This was where Management sat when they thought you weren't up to scratch, watching you and waiting while you went through your steps, all the while unaware your fate was being decided just feet away.

A polite coughed sounded behind her. She hadn't heard anyone come in. She tensed, turned slowly; relaxed. "Major Tulsen."

"Captain."

"Umm."

"Enjoying the view?"

Lindsa shrugged. Through the glass and in the hall, Jonathan had regained the upper hand – in a way – and Jacobyte lay on his front at Jonathan nibbled his ears. Tulsen gave Lindsa an inquisitive look.

"What?" she said. "A free show is a free show."

"Quite..."

"You're welcome to stay, sir," said Lindsa, a wry grin plastering its between her red cheeks.

A ringing bell sounded through the complex.

"Alas, no," said Tulsen. "The canteen calls."

When he'd gone, Lindsa pulled up a seat and pressed her face back to the glass.

* * *

S. K. Castern kicked open the gymnasium door without missing a step and swept inside. The sound of heavy breathing and the occasional grunt caught her attention straight away. She raised an eyebrow in the direction of the noise, starting toward it.

* * *

Jonathan stopped his administrations on Jacobyte mid-bite as the doors to the hall flew open. He frowned, not recognising the red headed woman that scowled her sullen disapproval at the pair of them.

She coughed, obviously keen on getting both of their attention.

Jonathan watched Jacobyte's head swivel to face her as well. "Oh," he said, a little breathless, "hello."

Jonathan snorted, and Jacobyte took that opportunity to change their positions and pin him down again.

"Can we help you?" Jacobyte said to the woman, looking over his shoulder and managing to hold Jonathan as he struggled underneath.

"Captain Hasphane and Lieutenant Holster, I presume? Your reputation precedes you."

Still craning over his shoulder, Jacobyte said, "We have a reputation?" He looked back down at Jonathan. "We have a reputation?"

"Darling, _I've_ got a reputation. You've just got sympathy gossip."

The woman cleared her throat. "If we could get on with this? I have a lot of things to do today, pretty much all of them more important than observing a couple of jumped-up, horny, over-confident, up-start agents."

Jacobyte and Jonathan exchanged a Look. "Management, are you?"

"The very same."

Jacobyte rolled off Jonathan and jumped to his feet. He tilted his chin, appraising the woman: tall, shapely; long red curls and murky eyes, a few freckles and several more scars on her cheeks. There were lines and shadows enough, accentuated by the sullenness of her expression. Jacobyte got the impression she'd be gorgeous if she'd only smile. Beside him, Jonathan tucked his feet up and half-crouched above the floor, fingers splayed on his knees, feline and lithe; almost ready to pounce.

Jacobyte could almost feel the predatory grin from here.

Jonathan asked, "Your name, Miss Management?"

"S. K. Castern."

Jacobyte shifted his weight from foot to foot. "What do your friends call you?"

"SK."

"And your enemies?" said Jonathan.

"My enemies find it very hard to speak afterward." Castern took a step inside, the door closing with an audible _click_ behind her. "Shall we get started?"

* * *

"Well," said Jacobyte, his voice raised so Jonathan could hear him above the sonic shower's throbbing hum, "that was interesting."

"Shut it, Jackie."

"Bested by a girl, were we?"

"She slammed you down straight after. Don't know how you can be so damned cocky about it."

Jacobyte came up behind him, slipping his arms around Jonathan's sonic-soft waist. "No?"

Jonathan pushed him away and left the shower area snarling something about jumped-up, over-confident, horny captains.

Jacobyte took it as a compliment. If they were back to insults, maybe things would work out after all. He followed after Jonathan, grabbing his clothes and shucking into them in an effort to keep up with Jonathan, who was now fully dressed and about to leave.

"Wait a sec, won't you?" said Jacobyte. His feet tangled together in his trouser legs, and he nearly fell. Jonathan's barely repressed smile was a good sign. A very good sign. Insults and self-mockery and general rowdiness mixed with an underlying devotion to the other.

Or at least Jacobyte hoped that was what they had.

He hoped that was what he still wanted.

He hoped...

"Jacobyte, I'm going home."

Jacobyte blinked. "You're what?" Jonathan wouldn't go _home_ of all places. Too many reminders of the past. Too many ghosts toting weapons and grudges. "You can't be serious."

Jonathan's turn to blink. "What?"

"But you..." Jacobyte's ears caught up with his train of thought. "Oh. Wait. Okay. Nevermind."

Jonathan pursed his lips. Affected a 'well?' expression.

"Ignore me," said Jacobyte. "My brain's doing a wonderful job of being an idiot."

"It does that anyway, dear."

Jacobyte smiled despite himself. "Want to go out, grab some food or something? There's this takeout on the corner of Pepperost park—"

"I said I want to go home, Jackie." Jonathan slung his leather coat over his shoulder. "Back to the apartment. Try to rest my aching limbs and get a bit of my pride back?"

The door swung shut behind him, and Jacobyte said, voice soft, "Okay."


	11. With or Without You

**Author note:** Hit them, someone, please. Just a great big slap upside the head. If anyone wants to just take Jacobyte and Jonathan out of my hair, go for it.

Lindsa, on the other hand, I think I've promised to Galadriel1010.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven – With or Without You**

Jonathan half stalked, half limped across the apartment and all but collapsed onto the welcoming bed. It reeked a little of stale Jacobyte and stale Jonathan. He didn't mind. For now it was soft and he was tired and everything else could go to hell.

"You want a drink?" Jacobyte asked from, unless Jonathan's ears deceived him, the doorway. Hesitant, almost.

Soft. Tired. Go to hell.

"No thanks," said Jonathan. He rolled over and began to tug off his trousers, patently ignoring Jacobyte.

Jacobyte left to potter around in the kitchen. Jonathan held back his sigh of relief.

Once under the covers, he couldn't seem to relax. The stubble on his chin scratched in odd places. His remaining clothes twisted and bunched even as he wriggled to get comfy. He wanted to be asleep when Jacobyte came back in; it'd save effort on so many levels.

No dice.

Jonathan rolled over and fumbled at the low shelf by the bed, hoping that what he needed was where he'd left it.

Bingo.

He stuck the music machine's ear buds in his ears and rolled back over, head facing toward the door. Song chosen at random, he closed his eyes. Waited. Listened.

"_No, I can't forget this evening."_

Light glanced across his closed lids. Dull red.

"_Or your face as you were leaving."_

The bed dipped down beside him, and the light disappeared.

"_But I guess that's just the way the story goes."_

Jacobyte prodded his shoulder, saying something that Jonathan couldn't hear,

"_You always smile but in your eyes your sorrow shows."_

Jonathan smiled.

"_Yes, it shows."_

The prod became more vicious. Jonathan pulled out an ear bud and said, "What?"

"_No, I can't forget tomorrow, when I think of all my sorrows."_

Jacobyte took the bud from him and looked at it in the half light. "Should I ask?"

"_When I had you there but then I let you go, and now it's only fair that I should let you know what you should know..."_

"Early twenty first Earth music device. Now shut up and let me sodding well relax already."

"Sorry."

"_I can't live if living is without you, I can't live, I can't give any more."_

Jonathan rolled over again. Lay on his back and stared at the ceiling as Jacobyte continued to play with the ear bud.

Jonathan was horrible aware of Jacobyte watching him, too.

"_Can't live if living is without you."_

"You're agitated," said Jacobyte. "You always twitch when something's bothering you."

"_I can't give, I can't give any more."_

Jonathan paused the music. So much for relaxation. "I'm tired and I can't sleep. Is that allowed?"

"Is it me? I said I was sorry."

"Oh for— Jacobyte, drop it, go to sleep."

He pressed play again. A small depression of his thumb, and the man's voice continued to warble.

"_No, I can't forget this evening, or your face as you were leaving."_

"Jonathan."

Jonathan was ignoring him. He was being relaxed. He was tired, the bed was soft, Jacobyte was warm, and Jonathan was relaxed.

"_But I guess that's just the way the story goes."_

"Jonathan, talk to me."

"_You always smile but in your eyes your sorrow shows."_

"I just want to sleep, Jackie," said Jonathan.

And Jacobyte, with near painful tenderness, tucked his arm under Jonathan's neck, forcing Jonathan to rest his head on Jacobyte's chest.

"_Can't live if living is without you."_

Painfully sweet.

"_I can't live, I can't give anymore."_

Jonathan sighed, and closed his eyes, surrendering to the embrace.

"_I can't live if living is without you."_

"Sleep, love," Jacobyte whispered.

"_Can't live, I can't give anymore."_

Jonathan slept.

* * *

_Bangbangbang._

Jonathan woke with a start, his half flail hindered somewhat by Jacobyte's sprawling limbs. "Jacobyte," he hissed. "Jackie, wake up."

_Bangbangbang!_

"Wsfrglbt," said Jacobyte.

"Jacobyte! Get off me, you big lump!"

"Not the bunnies!"

Jonathan paused. "What?"

"Eh?"

"And yet not the weirdest thing you've said waking up."

Jacobyte extradited himself and said, "What time is it?"

_Bang!_

"About half ten—"

_Bangbang!_

A muffled voice drifted from the closed lift doors. "My hand's starting to hurt now. Can you guys let me in already?"

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "Lindsa," he told Jacobyte. Jacobyte grunted. "What do you want, Linny?"

"Company other than pimpled cadets?"

Jacobyte got out of bed, stretched and winced. He passed a clean pair of trousers to Jonathan and pulled on a pair himself. "Have to try better than that, Captain," said Jacobyte. "We really need some incentive in here."

On cue, Jonathan's stomach rumbled.

"I brought takeout?" said Lindsa.

"Get the door, Jackie," said Jonathan, sliding out of the bed and landing in a coiled heap, bed sheet wrapped around his shoulders.

Jacobyte put his arms into a loose kimono type shirt, not bothering to fasten it, and padded toward the door. "What did your last one die of?"

"Starvation."

Jacobyte snorted. Used his thumb to unlock the door. "Captain Denovan, always a pleasure."

"Captain Hasphane," said Lindsa, stepping inside. A savoury, fried smell wafted up from the box in her arms, and Jacobyte's eyebrows shot up. "Likewise."

"You brought nfato?"

She shoved the box into his hands and opened the lid. Steam from several tied bags plumed out over the side, and a pot of sweet smelling sauce lay tucked in the corner. Jacobyte's mouth began to water. "I'm guessing nfato was a good choice?" said Lindsa.

By way of response, Jacobyte stepped backward and dashed toward the kitchen, box held protectively close to his chest.

Jonathan stuck his head out of the bedroom. "What did you do to him?"

"I gave him fried calories."

"Ooh," said Jonathan. "Yum."

Lindsa followed Jonathan into the kitchen, which opened out and became the living area, which in turn opened onto the balcony. "Nice place," said Lindsa.

"Thanks."

"Shame you never invited me up earlier."

"That statement you just made implies that I invited you up just now."

Lindsa indicated the box of nfato takeout. "Are you complaining?"

"I'm not," Jacobyte piped up. He'd already gotten one of the bags open and was merrily munching his way through the deep fried adab grass. He waved a frond at Lindsa, admonishing Jonathan. "You should have invited her up earlier, young padwan."

"Ahem!" said Jonathan.

"What?"

"Leave some for the rest of us, won't you? Greedy sod. What happened to Mr Manners?"

"Do you want the full sordid saga or a quick run through?"

"Quick run through."

Jacobyte dipped a piece of adab in the sweet sauce and munched thoughtfully. "Mr Manners got done for fraud and is even now working the corner of Pepperost and Main to earn a living."

Jonathan paused in his attack on the box. "And you know this, how?"

"He's very polite about everything. Please and thank you and the like. Fantastic compliments when you tip."

"You disgust me."

"So does your face."

"Oho!"

Lindsa pulled up a stool, grinning as the two of them fought and bickered over the food. Jonathan remembered her after a moment and proffered one of the bags. "For our glorious benefactor."

"Why, thank you."

"You're looking nice today, by the way."

Lindsa chewed and swallowed before saying, "Thanks. Again." She looked away, forced her eyes to the view of the city. "I think."

Jacobyte, mouth full, flicked his eyes from Jonathan to Lindsa and back again. And then he smirked.

"Is it your day off, then, Captain?" he inquired, innocent as you like.

"Yeah," said Lindsa. "No beating up cadets for me today, thank deity." She turned back to them. "And please, call me Lindsa."

Jacobyte smiled, showing his teeth. "Lindsa. Okay. As long as you call me Jacobyte. Jackie, if you like."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jacobyte saw Jonathan's fists clench. Probably not aware of it, but Jacobyte was.

"Want the tour?" he asked Lindsa.

Lindsa looked around. "Isn't this it?"

"Sort of," said Jacobyte. "But there's always more to the eye if one is willing to only look and see."

"Huh," said Lindsa.

Jacobyte wiped his hand and extended it to her. "Willing?"

Lindsa took it. Shrugged. "Sure."

Jonathan, seated opposite on the table, stared at their joined hands and stood up suddenly. Lindsa looked at him, confused. Jacobyte merely widened his eyes, the very picture of cherubic innocence.

Unfortunately, on Jacobyte, and to Jonathan, this made him look more like a fallen angel.

Jonathan bit his tongue. "Nothing," he managed to say. "Just remembered there was something I left in the utility room. Back in a few minutes."

He grabbed his coat and left the apartment, Lindsa shooting bemused looks at his back.

"He alright?" she asked once he'd gone.

"He's fine," said Jacobyte. "Tour?"

"I'll pass, you know. Might go and check out the view from the balcony, if I may?"

"Be my guest."

"Technically I'm Jonathan's," said Lindsa. She paused in the glass doorway, looking back at him by the table. "This is still his place, if I'm not mistaken."

Jacobyte conceded with a nod. He began to turn away, clear up the takeout mess.

"Captain," said Lindsa.

He turned back. Expression expectant.

"Jacobyte," she said. "Jackie to some."

"Jackie to only one," he said.

"Really?"

Jacobyte shrugged.

Lindsa nodded her head toward the door. "If you hurt him..."

Jacobyte arched an eyebrow.

"Don't play coy, Captain Hasphane. There's too much age behind your eyes for you to pull it off."

"You saying I look old?"

"I'm saying you've learned a lot, and still have a lot to learn. And you can try to charm me with talk of willingness and seeing beyond the norm, but I can see straight through _you_."

Jacobyte put the empty bags and containers into the box. "I'll just take these out. Refuse condenser a few floors down."

"Uh-huh," said Lindsa.

"Eco-friendly and all that."

"If you say so."

After he'd gone, Lindsa laughed to herself and settled down in one of the deckchairs on the balcony. She fiddled with the hairgrip Eric had given her, salvaged from one of the time-zones the Agency forbade access to. "Men," she said with a snort. "Honestly."


	12. What Fury Hath

**Chapter Twelve – What Fury Hath**

Jonathan was waiting when Jacobyte pushed through the utility room door. His back against the wall, one knee raised, foot tucked up. "Hey," he murmured, eying Jacobyte up and down. "Nice tour?"

Jacobyte dumped his bag of rubbish. "It's cute how you're still hung up on her."

Jonathan ignored him, idly biting at a fingernail.

"Three months you were partnered, or so you told me. The one that got away, you said."

"Why are you doing this, Jacobyte?"

"I got two weeks with you. Probably shouldn't feel disgruntled if you're still hankering after her. It's only to be expected." Jacobyte folded his arms and gave a breathy whistle. "I mean, she is someth—"

Jonathan snapped. "Two weeks? What's this two weeks bullshit?"

"We were officially partners for all of two weeks," said Jacobyte. "I looked at Tulsen's files."

"Since when has _anyone_ ever taken the Agency records as fact?" Jonathan shook his head. "Know what? Doesn't matter. Bureaucracy can take a running jump." He pushed himself off the wall and advanced on Jacobyte. "What were you playing at, up there?"

"Playing at?" Jacobyte repeated. He sniffed. Affected a wounded expression. "I wasn't playing at anything. Not my fault if there's a spark between the two of us."

"A spark, he says." Jonathan scoffed. "A fucking spark."

"Just an ordinary spark, really—"

"What are you _doing_, Jacobyte? Are you trying to get me riled up? Is that what you want?"

Jacobyte waited. Jonathan blinked. Backed up a step.

"It is," he said, feeling numb. "You son of a motherbitcher, that's what you want! You sick, twisted, _heartless_—"

Jacobyte moved forward, pushing himself into Jonathan's personal space. "I have a heart."

"Doesn't fucking look like it from here!" Jonathan ran a hand through his hair. He stared up into Jacobyte's eyes. "I'm just a puppet on a string for you, aren't I? Use me up whenever you want, twist and turn me so I'm nothing more than entertainment and then throw me aside when you've had enough."

"Is that what you think?"

Jonathan's voice was hollow as he said, "That's what I _know_."

"You're being overdramatic."

Jonathan exploded. "What?!"

"Umm."

"Overdramatic? I should punch you right now."

Jacobyte flung his hands into the air. "Then go ahead!"

"What?"

"You said I was holding back before. Far as I can see, you're the one holding back now!"

"I'm not holding back."

"So punch me! Quit whining and just _do_ already!"

Jonathan backed into the wall, exasperated beyond belief. "I don't want to hit you."

"Come on," said Jacobyte. "It's me. Captain Jacobyte Hasphane. I'm the Face of sodding Boe. _Everyone_ wants to punch me."

"Jacobyte, right now I am standing here and trying to see things from your point of view." Jonathan's voice shook. He forced his clenched fists back down. Offered Jacobyte a sickeningly calm smile. "But I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass. So I'm going to give up on the whole endeavour, go back upstairs and get myself blind drunk. Is that an acceptable plan, oh manipulator-of-my-heart?"

"Drunk? It's barely midday."

"That's never stopped either of us before," said Jonathan. "Or was it someone else who got off their head on Bolurae the other day?"

"I—"

"Screw you, Jacobyte Hasphane."

"That's more like it."

A sigh. "We are going round in circles here."

"Like you say," said Jacobyte, pulling a face, "never stopped either of us before."

"Sod off, Jackie."

"No."

"I said sod off!"

"And I heard you."

"Then go?"

"I said that I heard you, not that I listened."

Jonathan pushed past him with a derisive snort, storming out of the room; ignoring Jacobyte's protest and probably an insult involving both their mothers. Jonathan stuck his head back inside long enough to say, "Blind drunk is still on my agenda. Feel free to join. I would just _love_ to scrub you from my conscious while you're actually there..."

* * *

Glariyo's main city stretched out before Lindsa, its shimmering reflections seeming to throw back more than just light. Lindsa found herself lost in their sparkle, mulling over the complexities of life, the universe and everything: Eric still on the Medusa Cascade space station; her stuck in the Agency's training halls, teaching young cadets how to throw their lives away to temporal duty.

Lindsa reflected that maybe a drink would be nice.

She levered herself out of the deckchair and wandered around Jonathan's apartment, muttering to herself something along the lines of: "If I were a bottle of alcohol, where would I be?"

She was just pouring herself a generous portion of chocolate liqueur (Barcelonan, no less; Jonathan always did have good taste where it mattered) when the apartment doors slid open with a sizzling _thunk_. Jonathan glowered at her for all of three seconds, and then he pounded across, seized the glass from her hand and drained it in one go.

Lightly, Lindsa asked, "Everything alright?"

By way of response, Jonathan poured three more glasses. Passed her one, sipped at another and put the last on the opposite side of the table.

"That for your ego?" said Lindsa. Jonathan snorted a sticky laugh.

"If you like." Sip. "In a way." Sip. "Yes."

"You ought to be careful, you know what this stuff does when the sugar rush kicks in."

"Darling," said Jonathan with exaggerated slowness , "don't you think I'm rather counting on that fact?"

The lift doors slid open again. Jacobyte cocked an eyebrow at the pair of them.

Lindsa put down her glass. "Know what? I think I might just—" Jonathan's hand landed on her arm. Gripped. Tight.

"You're not going anywhere, Linny."

"Oh, here he comes," muttered Lindsa. "Mr Sugar Grouch." She pulled herself out of his grasp, took several steps back. "I'm going to sit out for this one, alright, lads? Balcony's been missing me." And she took the sticky necked chocolate liqueur bottle with her. No sense wasting good and expensive and intoxicatingly orgasmic booze if those two turned to blows.

"This is your version of blind drunk?" Jacobyte pointed to the waiting, full glass. Jonathan drained the last of his and perched on one of the stools, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "Not talking to me now? What a surprise."

"Oh!" said Jonathan. "Sarcasm! _That's_ original."

Both Jacobyte and Jonathan turned at the sound of a muffled laugh. Lindsa pushed away from the glass a second too late. "Sorry," she said, voice distorted from out on the balcony. "Do continue." She waved them off and went back to the deckchair, settling backward and swigging from the liqueur bottle. Jonathan was still grinning at her when a hand gently probed at his. He looked down. Jacobyte stroked his knuckles, touch light.

"What's this about, Jonathan?"

"Don't you go psychiatrist on me, Jackie. You know I hate it." He didn't stop Jacobyte doing whatever he was doing with his fingers, though, however much he hated 'it'.

Jonathan felt some of the tension drain out of him, almost unwilling in its departure.

"I know," Jacobyte said simply.

"Still trying to rile me, eh?"

"Not really. The fun's gone out of it a bit."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Pity. I was looking forward to throwing the first punch."

"You should have. You're too forgiving right now; I'm being an arse!"

Jonathan blinked. Frowned at his empty cup.

In a low voice, Jacobyte said, "Where's the Jonathan I knew back on Dringis?"

Jonathan raised his eyes. His breath caught in his throat. "What about the Jacobyte _I_ knew on Dringis? I want it to be like that again, Jackie."

"I know."

"I want you to _see_ me, like you did before, when there was nothing between us and no reasons to hold back."

"I know."

"Then why—"

"Can't seem to help myself."

Jonathan coughed the word "understatement", and Jacobyte laughed. Warm smile. Dulled eyes. Jonathan tried to laugh, and the sound felt false.

"We'll be alright, we will," said Jacobyte. He held out his arms. Jonathan stepped into the offered embrace, all the while thinking, _No, we won't._

* * *

Lindsa watched the two men hold each other over the rim of the liqueur bottle – that is to say the bottle was near the level of her eye, not that Jacobyte and Jonathan had the habit of hugging atop glassware – and she raised her voice to a near deafening level, shouting, quite cheerfully, "Is it safe to come in yet?"

Jonathan swaggered to the balcony door and leaned there, ankles crossed, eyebrow raised. It near enough made Lindsa's day to see some of the old cockiness return. "Define safe," he said.

"Am I likely to be dismembered?"

"No."

"Drugged?"

"Yes."

"Abused in no uncertain terms?"

"Every moment with Jacobyte is one of abuse. He's like being mobbed with a sparkling grin on top."

"Dear me," said Lindsa. "That bad?"

"That bad," said Jonathan, and Jacobyte appeared beside, slipping his arms around Jonathan's waist; resting his chin on Jonathan's shoulder. Jonathan looked at him sideways. "Aren't you?"

"There are many things that I am, and many things I am not. One of the many things I am is clueless." He batted his lashes at Lindsa, the deep blue of his eyes flickering. "Care to clue me in?"

"You're right," Lindsa said to Jonathan. "It does sparkle a bit." She nestled further into the deckchair, crossed her legs; looked at them both with a speculative air. "Who's the redhead, then?"

"The redhead?"

"Training hall yesterday."

Jonathan blinked. "How did you—"

Lindsa just grinned at him. Jacobyte shook his head, laughing. "You two are cute when you get going," said Lindsa. "All that domination and those deliberately pulled punches? Made my day."

"I don't pull my punches," said Jonathan.

"Neither do I."

"No?" Lindsa considered the bottle in her hands. "Must have been imagining things, then." She took a derisive swig, and Jacobyte laughed again. Jonathan smiled, feeling the low vibrations shake through him.

"The redheaded harridan was Management," said Jacobyte, "and you know we can't tell you anymore than that."

"Yeah, yeah," said Lindsa, waving a hand. She inclined her head toward Jonathan. "Anything to do with Mr Arse Cheeks?"

"Mr Arse Cheeks?" Jacobyte repeated delicately, turning slightly and arching an eyebrow at Jonathan.

"What?" said Jonathan. "I didn't jump him, don't get your frilly knickers in a twist."

"They aren't _that_ frilly," Jacobyte protested while Lindsa choked on her drink and doubled over, coughing and laughing alternately in whooping, hacked bursts.

* * *

"Thanks for coming, Lindsa."

"No problem." She patted Jonathan on the shoulder as they walked out onto the street. Several hundred floors above them, Jacobyte leaned dangerously far over the balcony railings and waved. Lindsa waved back, amused the turnaround. Jonathan ignored him.

"Her name's Castern," he said, watching the traffic float on by. Lindsa shot him a look, then turned back to the traffic.

"You shouldn't have told me that."

"Why," said Jonathan, grinning despite himself, "jealous?"

"Hardly."

"You'd look good with red hair..."

Lindsa's snarl, no doubt the prelude to a truly phantasmagorical insult, was cut off as the door behind them opened suddenly and hit her square in the back. "Ow!" she yelped, jumping forward. The short woman who'd committed the offense squeezed around the door and squeaked an apology.

"Well, if it isn't little Ayo Majista," said Jonathan. "Do you make a habit of assaulting people with doorframes?"

Ayo glared at him and continued to fret over Lindsa as Lindsa attempted to bat her away. Jonathan leaned on the thin strip of wall that formed an arch over and around the building's recessed entrance and watched them in silent amusement. He straightened up when Colonel Wull joined the scene, though. Tipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Colonel."

"Lieutenant." She frowned down at her girlfriend. "Ayo. Put the poor Captain down."

Ayo let go of Lindsa, and Lindsa backed away several steps, rubbing her back.

"Sorry," said Ayo. Again.

"Don't worry about it," said Lindsa. She winced. "Happens all the time..."

"Where are you two lovely ladies heading off to today, then?" said Jonathan. Monifa narrowed her eyes at him. "What? I can be politely disinterested if I want."

"Don't you mean politely _interested_?" said Lindsa, drawn into the exchange despite herself.

"He means disinterested," said Monifa. Jonathan smiled. "I doubt anything we say will transcend into that thick skull of his."

"Oi!" said Jonathan.

Lindsa tapped his shoulder again, pulled him close for a confiding style murmur. "It is pretty thick, you have to admit."

"I don't have to admit anything—"

"As much as we'd love to chat," said Monifa, raising her voice, "time's a wasting." She inclined her head toward Jonathan and Lindsa. "Captain. Lieutenant."

"Colonel," said Lindsa. Jonathan echoed her, nodding slightly.

Ayo and Monifa got into their hover-buggy and, after several false starts on their parts and barely repressed smirks from Jonathan, it zoomed off down the street. Lindsa watched the dust settle. Jonathan watched her watch.

"You're staring."

"My apologies."

"What's on your mind?"

Jonathan shrugged. Stuck his hands in his pockets. Flashed her a self-deprecating grin. "I really want to tell you."

Lindsa twigged. "You can't."

"I know, but I'm buzzing over here..."

Loftily, Lindsa said, "I hadn't noticed.

Another grin.

"You could order me to tell you," said Jonathan.

"Lieutenant Holster, the command to button your lip about upcoming missions came from just about the highest source of authority in the Agency. I hope you're not suggesting I attempt to impede that jurisdiction?"

Jonathan chewed on his lower lip and sucked at the inside of this cheeks. "You could get me drunk."

"What, and waste all the booze this side of Central?"

"Come on, Linny..."

"You really want to tell, don't you?"

Jonathan nodded.

Lindsa did an internal eye roll. This was Jonathan's influence, this was. "Then tell." And she pulled out her sidearm with a businesslike flourish, turning off the safety by a combination of pressure and sheer will (psychic imprint zones on the trigger never failed to have their uses). There was a low beep as it disengaged, and then she brought it around to dig into the base of Jonathan's spine, pointing upward. From this angle, to the people on the street, their close position would look nothing more than an embrace. "Or I blow your brains out."

"I miss being your partner," said Jonathan. "I forgot how much fun you were."

"I'm waiting, Lieutenant."

Jonathan laughed, then sobered. "Well, if I'm being threatened..."

"Are you going to spill your guts, or do I have to do it for you?"

"Works for me." Jonathan flashed her yet another grin. Lindsa gave him her best 'don't make my finger get lazy on this trigger' look. "You've heard about the Agency's interest in certain lost civilisations?"

"Who hasn't?" said Lindsa. When Jonathan looked set to make a remark, she added, "I was being rhetorical. But lost civilisations? Yeah. Like the ones they say fought in that myth of a war?"

"That's them."

"And?"

"Think, Linny. I can't tell you _everything_ here, I really will get shot."

Lindsa's hand relaxed on her gun. "So they've found some... and they've sending _you two_ to investigate?" said Lindsa, incredulous. She laughed softly. "Deity, this place is going to the dogs."

Jonathan ducked suddenly, whipped the gun out of her hand with a deft flick, reengaged the safety (although, thought Lindsa, there was no way he should know how to do that, the gun being designed for her and her alone) and he tucked the gun into his belt. "Dogs, you say?"

He ducked again, this time to avoid her fist. "Give me that back," she warned, "or I'll set my cadets on you. Warts and all."

"No," said Jonathan, eyes shining. "Oh no!" His hands reappeared to clench in horror under his chin. "Not the warts! Anything but the warts!"

Lindsa swatted him on the head with the flat of her hand, then retrieved the gun.

"Anyway," Jonathan continued, as if nothing had happened, and as Lindsa carefully re-holstered her gun, "I think it's more like a test to see how we are as partners. Whether we're still good stock, good fodder for the Agency and that."

"Yeah, I get you."

"It shouldn't be too bad, as missions go. Bit of reconnaissance and exploration. Easy." Jonathan scuffed the edge of his boot along the gravelly floor. "What could go wrong?"

"You're tempting fate like that."

A laughed. "You sound like Jacobyte with his narrative karma bollocks."

"He believes in that?"

"He says he's just interested. The concept of one divine Writer, one wreathing Plot for the universe..." Jonathan trailed off. "I have to say it kind of intrigues me too."

Lindsa stuck her head out of the archway and looked up. Jacobyte's blurry dot of a figure had disappeared. "Right," she said. She looked back at Jonathan. "Nutters, the pair of you."

He bowed.

"When are you headed out?" said Lindsa.

"Few days," said Jonathan. "They're waiting on the transport."

"Not an urgent mission, then, I take it? You're right. Low level priority reconnaissance." She smiled, held out her hand. "You'll be fine."

He ignored the hand and pulled her in for a hug.

"Déjà vu," said Lindsa with a laugh.

Jonathan let her go, and she walked out onto the street, waving. He'd just gotten the door open when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned, and frowned at Lindsa. Waving his hands to shoo her away, he said, "Begone already."

"Promise me something."

Cocky grin. He folded his arms, foot keeping the door open. "Do I get a choice in this?"

"Nope," said Lindsa.

"Okay, fine."

"Promise you'll look after yourself?"

"You know me, Lindsa. What's the worst that could happen?"

Lindsa watched his every step as he walked back across the building's foyer and into the lift. "If ever there was one to tempt fate, Jonathan Holster," she muttered to herself. "If ever there was one."

* * *

**Author note: **Citizens, rejoice! The tension appears to have been resolved! Jacobyte and Jonathan stand on high! And they're playing track three...

_You got me runnin', going out of my mind, you got me thinkin' that I'm wastin' my time, don't bring me dowwwwwwn_~

Barcelonan (planet! *pulls goofy face* They have dogs with no noses... Imagine how many times a day you tell that joke, and it's _still_ funny!) chocolate liqueur belongs entirely to loveslashangst on LiveJournal, you must must _must_ check out her Torchwood/Doctor Who stuff! I am in envious awe of her John Hart, and you'll never see an OT3 like she writes hers... ohm nom nom!


	13. Colour Wheel

**Author note:** Big fluffy love to Ruth and Rachel! Big _big_ big. Big.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen – Colour Wheel**

Space frost crept its way around the edges of the porthole, crystallising and catching the light at odd angles. Jonathan gave it a half hearted prod through the four-inch plexi-glass.

"I'm bored," he informed the cabin's only other occupant.

Jacobyte ignored him and continued to stare out the other porthole, eyes tracking the stars as they flickered past. Jonathan looked at him. The cabin's strange overhead lighting seemed to bring out his eyes. Make them glitter almost unnaturally.

"You seem happy."

"I feel happy," murmured Jacobyte.

"Happier than I've seen you in a while."

Jacobyte shifted on the cabin-long bench, leaned against the wall and met Jonathan's thoughtful gaze. "I like it," he said. "Out here. In space."

"You feel free," Jonathan guessed.

A smile. A nod. "I feel free."

"Being out in the open makes you feel safe."

"I suppose." Jacobyte brought his knees up and wrapped both arms around them. Rested his chin on the tangle of limbs. "If you hadn't rented a penthouse, if it was anywhere that felt... I don't think I could have lived with you."

"Enclosure is never going to be good for us."

"No."

"We hate feeling trapped?"

"Yeah." Jacobyte looked away, back to the endless drifts of space. Jonathan hardly heard him say, "I guess we do."

* * *

"You gonna eat that yellow?"

"The way you gorge on yellow sickens me. Take it. I'll just have to scrub my brain out after."

"Watch your tone, Lieutenant," said Castern.

"My apologies," said Jonathan. "Take it, _ma'am_. I'll just scrub my brains out afterward."

Castern turned to Jacobyte where he sat at the end of the table, stacking blue into tiny pyramids. "Is he always like this?" she asked, jabbing her spork toward Jonathan. Jacobyte looked up and nodded. Returned to his task. Jonathan felt smug, and Castern ignored this smugness, choosing instead to steal some of his green along with the aforementioned yellow.

"You'd think green would taste like a mix between blue and yellow," mumbled Jacobyte, coating the pyramids in a thin layer of sweet, "but it doesn't."

Jonathan fixed Jacobyte's plate with a sickened expression, pushing his own away and said, "I hate in-flight food."

"Is it better than fried mess?" said Jacobyte, not looking up. He positioned several crumbs around a half built pyramid. "Surely flight food, in its various exuberant, mind-numbing, sense-destroying shades, is more palatable than fried mess?"

A scaffold made from flakes of blue appeared beside the pyramid.

"Fried mess?" said Castern, taking interest again.

Jonathan glared at Jacobyte. "You said you weren't going to mentioned those words again. You promised you wouldn't!"

"What's fried mess?"

"You _know_ I can't think about it without my heart stuttering in protest!"

"I know," Jacobyte said cheerfully. Crumb slaves began work on another pyramid of blue. Jonathan leaned across and stabbed his spork into one of the pyramids, and Jacobyte winced. "Now why would you do that?"

"One vindictive turn deserves another," said Jonathan.

"I mention a food you used to _love_ and you destroy my edible architecture?" Jacobyte prodded the plate. "Your mind is weird."

Whatever interest Castern had faded, her face returning to its near constant state of sullenness with a twist of spite. Bit of a sadistic streak in there too. "I've booked one of the entertainment suites for us to practice in," she told them, standing and gathering her empty plate. "I expect to see you there in half an hour."

"Half an hour?" said Jacobyte. "We just ate!"

"You think your enemies are going to wait until you've fully digested everything? Wait until you've put your feet up for a mid-afternoon smoke? Practice in fifteen minutes, gentlemen. Third level. Theta suite four. See you there."

"She has a point," said Jonathan.

"Teachers pet," Jacobyte muttered as they went to put their dirty plates and utensils on the clearing belt that ran the length of the canteen. "You won't get into her pants, you know."

"You assume I'd want to?" Jonathan watched his plate disappear into the wall and nodded to himself, satisfied all was in order. "And anyway," he continued, "how do you know she wears pants?"

"Point."

"All these assumptions, Jackie. Tut tut."

"Assuming something is better than assuming nothing," said Jacobyte.

They left the canteen.

"How do you figure?" said Jonathan.

"I always assume you're about to make yourself look like an idiot, for one thing." Jonathan glanced sideways at him, frowning. Jacobyte added, "Mind that terminal."

"Mind that wh—? Bollocks! Ow! By dose!"

"See? I make _good _assumptions."

Jonathan snarled something unintelligible at him, trying to rub the feeling back into some parts of his face and remove the feeling, the pain, from others. With little success.

"That meant to be an insult? Dear me, how you are slipping."

Jonathan punched him.

* * *

Jonathan explored the third level of the small (by intergalactic standards) freighter, and he found entertainment suite theta four after getting lost only once. Scratch that. Jonathan Holster didn't get lost, it was the universe that didn't know left from right.

The suite – where inside would be hologram technology capable of taking you to several pre-programmed simulations, or one of your own if you had the knowledge and know-how – was locked. Jonathan tried the terminal on the wall several times in any case. The light stayed resolutely blue, and he resigned himself to leaning beside it, pushing the 'open' button every minute or so. Jacobyte had gone off to, in his own words, 'use the little Agents room'.

Jonathan despaired sometimes. He really did.

Light flickered underneath the door. A slight gap that would seal itself to maintain hull pressure if needs be, but for now was enough to keep the air moving. Jonathan looked left and right down the corridor and then pressed his ear to the door.

"—three of them," said a woman's voice.

"How do you know it's going to be three?" said another.

The first voice laughed. "It's always three. The universe likes three."

"It also likes forty two, and look where that got us—"

Jonathan pulled away from the door. Castern and Jacobyte walked up. "I think there's someone else inside," he told them.

"There better not be," said Castern. "I booked it fair and square. Agency priority." She rapped on the door. The hushed voices cut off. Footsteps. The terminal's light flickered to green, and the door slid open a crack.

"Yes?"

"We booked this suite," said Castern.

"Did you? Oh—"

"Out, if you please."

"Sure thing, let me just—"

"Now."

The door closed. Jonathan circled Castern and pressed his ear back to it.

"—you were right. Do I owe you a drink?"

"Of course," said the first voice. Jonathan grinned at her smugness. "Don't worry, Innie, I won't let you forget."

"We're talking about forgetfulness? With you in the room?"

Footsteps. The voices got louder. A sniff. "Not my fault if my head's so full of ideas that—" The door slid open again. "Excuse me," the first woman – brown hair and browner eyes, spectacles hiding the latter – said to Jonathan's nose. He stepped back, and she looked him up and down. He did the same.

"Are you going to let me out, then?" said the woman the first had called Innie. They were both fairly young, the first dressed in loose dark clothes with a blue scarf around her neck, a bag of books over one shoulder and bewildered expression on her face. Jonathan looked from one to the other, feeling something akin to jealousy where Innie's beaten leather jacket and tartan boots were concerned. "It's rude to stare," she told him, adjusting the scarf that kept her purple hair out of her face.

"My apologies."

"Come on, Tali," said Innie, grabbing the brunette's hand and dragging her dazedly down the corridor.

"—going to have to watch those three," Tali hissed. "I'm telling you."

"I believe you," Jonathan heard Innie mutter. She glanced at him over her shoulder as they walked away. "Something about his eyes—"

And then they were gone. Jacobyte prodded Jonathan's shoulder. "Hello? Ground control to Major Tom?"

Jonathan blinked. "What's Major Tom got to do with it?"

"Nothing," said Jacobyte, shaking his head. "Never mind."

He and Jonathan followed Castern into the room, and Jonathan added, "I happen to know a Major Tom. Lovely chap."

"Is that right?"

"Yes," said Jonathan, "it is."

"Ladies!" said Castern, rubbing her hands together. "Can we focus now?"

* * *

Feeling bruised but happy nonetheless, Jacobyte wandered into the ship's canteen on the way back to his and Jonathan's cabin. Jonathan had left him several corridors back with the parting words, "I'd love to share a great big bowl of yellow with you, don't get me wrong, it's just that I think my spleen is about to explode." Then he'd limped off.

Castern had walked by several seconds later with a smirk on her face.

In the canteen, on the table furthest away from the entrance, sat hunched with head in hands over her untouched food, the young brown haired woman Jacobyte had heard called Tali muttered to herself. Jacobyte could see her lips moving. No one else in the room, Jacobyte grabbed a tray from the side and got himself a plate of blue. The girl didn't look up until he stood hovering right beside her. When she did so, a low sound escaped the back of her throat and she went back to staring down her food.

"This seat taken?"

Tali looked at the very much empty room. All the free tables. "Overused line," she told him, gesturing for him to sit, if he so wished. "And cheesy too. Very cheesy."

"Cheesy has its charms."

"True."

She picked up her spork and gave the green on her plate a vicious stab.

"Where're you headed?" asked Jacobyte, making a stab at conversation even as Tali decimated her food.

"Makkihn-1." Another stab. "You?"

"Same."

Tali snorted. "Figures.

"What figures?" said Jacobyte.

"Mmm?"

"I asked what figures."

The girl looked up then, meeting his eyes for the first time. "Crap," she said. "You might actually be worse than the other one."

By now, Jacobyte was well and truly puzzled. And he said so. "You alright? Maybe you should eat something. If this is your first time in deep space, it can do strange things to you—"

"Titalia Marsden-Rex!"

They both turned toward the door. Tali, now Titalia, paled visibly. "Roommate," she explained as the purple haired Innie stormed over. "Yes, Innie?"

Innie's voice was tight, almost painful in its politeness. "What are you doing?"

"I was just—"

"Here. Now. With him."

"It's not my fault." Titalia stood up, and Innie's expression softened. "You _know_ it isn't my fault if—"

"I know."

Jacobyte scooped up some blue on his spork and chewed thoughtfully, watching the free show.

"Then why the histrionics?"

"Ooh." Innie blinked. "Nice word."

Titalia beamed. "Thanks."

Jacobyte had time to waste. He could work out just who these two madwomen were if he wanted. "You two are headed for Makkihn-1, then?"

"Makkihn-Aweh," corrected Innie. "Yes. But right now we have to be getting back to our cabin." She placed a hand on Titalia's shoulder. Turned her around. "Nice to meet you, whoever you are."

"The pleasure's all mine," said Jacobyte.

"Bye," Titalia managed to say as Innie all but dragged her away. Out in the corridor, Jonathan frowned as the bickering pair passed him.

" You said you wouldn't get involved, Tali—"

"I am an innocent bystander here!"

"Innocent? Ha!"

Jonathan blinked again, and they turned a corner, out of sight but not quite out of mind.

Inside the canteen, pulling up a chair beside Jacobyte, he asked, "What was that about?"

"Not a clue."

A few seconds of silence.

"You gonna eat that blue?"

* * *

"_Flight control says seventy one hours at most. We'll be docking soon. Don't worry, you'll get what you want."_

Pause.

"_Yes, the both of them."_

Another pause.

"_And no, they don't know. I'm good at what I do."_

An even longer pause.

"_Understood. SK out."_


	14. Homestead

**Author note:** When did I last update this? *checks* ...wow. Two months ago. Right. Anyway! I have a plot now, you'll be happy to know, and the writer's block finally broke!

We are happy. Oh yes we are.

Hope you like!

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen – Homestead**

Jonathan found Jacobyte in one of the entertainment suites, head half buried in the holo-tech by the far wall.

"What are you doing?"

Jacobyte looked up suddenly, forehead only just missing something sharp. "Hmm?"

"I said, what are you—"

"I heard you." Jacobyte stood up and walked around the humming hologram generator. "Just trying to programme this damned thing."

Jonathan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Want a hand?"

Jacobyte raised an eyebrow. "You?"

"Jacobyte, I was rewiring circuitry and reprogramming tech before I could walk."

"You call that walking?"

"Shift it, Boeface. Let the expert have a go." Ignoring Jacobyte's cocky cockiness, Jonathan kneeled down beside the machine and had a look for himself... "Deity, what have you done to the poor thing?"

"It started it."

"Uh-huh." Jonathan rolled up his sleeves.

"Oh, he means business now! Lock up your hard drives."

_Still_ ignoring Jacobyte, Jonathan withdrew several all-purpose software tools from a pocket and began to fix what butchery Jacobyte had managed to inflict on the innocent machine. Several minutes later Jonathan announced that it was back in fully functioning order. He fixed Jacobyte with a curious stare. "What were you trying to programme in, anyway?"

"I..."

Jonathan blinked. Jacobyte _never_ looked uneasy. He stood up again, walking around to lean on the machine beside Jacobyte, and softly prodded Jacobyte's shoulder. "Tell me."

A sigh.

"Jacobyte?"

"I was trying to do Boeshane."

"Oh, Jackie..."

Jacobyte shrugged off the beginnings of Jonathan's pity hug before he could even move.

"Jacobyte?"

"I want to be back out there, Jonathan. I want to find him."

If Jonathan was honest, he'd thought Jacobyte past searching for Gray. Just for a little while. Gone was gone, and Gray was nowhere and no-when to be found. Instead, Jonathan said, voice soft, "I know."

Jacobyte stared at a patch of floor as if daring it to change. To become sand with a whiff of sweet ozone and freedom. Jonathan made up his mind. "Pass me your manipulator."

"Pardon?" said Jacobyte.

"Your manipulator." Jonathan grinned. "I know you have every inch of that damned peninsula logged into it. I'm gonna jack it into the system." He held out a hand. "Gimme."

Jacobyte passed it over, a little more reluctantly than he'd ever admit. The skin on his now bare arm was paler where the strap had been. Jonathan smiled, and, vortex manipulator in hand, he knelt again.

Several more minutes after that, ones filled with tinkering and the occasional spark, the mesh walls of the entertainment suite melted away into surf, sand and grass rustled silence.

Jonathan's head bobbed up from behind the machine with a triumphant, "Ha!" He stopped short on catching sight of Jacobyte, eyes closed, hands unclenched, lips parted.

"Jackie?"

Another sigh – no answers more than necessary. Jonathan watched Jacobyte listen to the sounds of his first and only home, and he let himself out the door shortly after with only one backward glance. All he would permit himself.

* * *

Castern found Jonathan in the galley, head half bowed over something on the table.

"What are you doing, Lieutenant?"

Jonathan glanced up sharply. Where the hell had she come from? Goddamn Management. Sneaky buggers the lot of them. Jonathan waved a hand over his book. "Reading."

"You... read?"

"You're a charmer, SK."

"That's Castern to you."

Jonathan shrugged; bent back over his book... Not that that meant he wasn't on alert now. Heaven forbid. His eyes were on the page, but his ears pricked as Castern pulled herself up a seat, and he watched her settle back in the edges of his vision.

He turned a page and said, without looking up, "So."

Castern arched a sculpted eyebrow. "So?"

"Mm. Yes. 'So'." Jonathan flicked the book shut, holding his place with a finger. "This mission..."

* * *

The history of the planet designated Makkihn-1, or Makkihn-Aweh, is long and complex—

Well, no.

It's short, and it's confusing, and can it even have a history when no one living, throughout all of Time and Space, knows what happened to it and the neighbouring planets in the Makkihn system?

Place gets a hell of a lot of tourists, mind you.

For half of its orbit around the star Makkihn, Aweh is an ice planet – life frozen, blanketed snow; the whole shebang. You half expect them to film a Star Wars blockbuster there, if you come from a time and place where Star Wars is practically religion. If not... It's an ice planet. Can't say much more than that.

But for the _other_ half of Aweh's orbit, things are a very different story. Exactly halfway through its orbit, the entire planet shifts in space, flickering out of existence and reappearing closer to the Makkihn star.

And the ice planet melts.

Life pushes up through the melting rivulets. Lakes form and gush. Plants, kept immobile under the snow, begin to grow from where they left off, their tiny, immutable hearts beats beating again as if nothing had happened. The planet becomes a jungle humming with plant life and matter, blossoming out from under the blankets of snow and ice.

Other things appear from out of the snow, too.

* * *

"Tchula?" Jonathan blinked. "Suddenly this all makes sense."

"It's in the Agency's best interest to investigate—"

"And their pockets too, no doubt."

Castern's nostrils flared. "It's not for you to question the Agency's motives, Lieutenant."

"No? My mistake. I'll just sit back and be inquisitive as and when I'm commanded, shall I?"

"If it's not too much bother."

Jonathan snorted. Grim smile. "So the Agency thinks they've found some more Tchula tech? And we're being sent as the delivery boys?"

"Problem with that?"

"Wouldn't matter even if I did have one." An almost delicate sniff. Jonathan opened his book again. "Wouldn't change anything."

But he could feel her watching... An upward glance, which Jonathan then regretted. As he scanned the page without letting the words sink in, he decided he didn't like that expression on Castern's face, the usual sullenness being much preferred. The way she looked now was almost like a cat that had gotten not only the cream but had managed to found its own dairy empire and now bathed in the stuff every night.

Smugness and barely sated greed.

At least with the sullenness you knew where you stood, and as for standing...

Castern flicked her eyes up to him. "Going somewhere?"

Jonathan tucked his book under his arm. "I'd like a decent night's sleep, if it's all the same."

"Aw."

Once he'd gone, Castern leant back in her chair and pondered the tabletop. If this all went well, she'd end up with more than the Agency's commendations in her pocket.

* * *

Jacobyte found Jonathan half curled around a pillow in their shared cabin, the lights dimmed and a book splayed open on the untouched covers beside him. He crept around the sunken mattress in the floor and set the book aside, marking Jonathan's place with a scrap of paper.

"Jonathan," he whispered, kneeling down and peering at the slumbering man.

"Mng."

"You gonna sleep fully fully clothed or do I get a clumsy strip tease?"

Jonathan blinked at him. Waved a drowsy hand and curled more into the pillow. Closed his eyes again. "Mng."

Jacobyte chuckled. "Right."

"Mm..."

Jacobyte shuffled back around to the other side of the mattress, stripped down and slipped under the covers. "Jonathan?"

"Mm?"

"Never mind."

Jonathan blinked into the pillow. Rolled over and almost onto Jacobyte. "What?"

"Don't know, just..."

"Heh. Yeah."

A small smile. Jacobyte nestled more under the covers and eyed Jonathan. "Now, about that strip tease?"

"I think it depends," said Jonathan, punctuating the sentence with a jaw-popping yawn, "on how much you plan on tipping." Jacobyte propped himself up on his elbows and looked Jonathan up and down critically. Jonathan hit his arm. "Bastard."

"You'd have me any other way?"

"True."

Jonathan wriggled out of his clothes and flopped down before creeping under the covers to wrap himself around Jacobyte before the man could protest.

"I know why we're here," he told Jacobyte's shoulder.

"Oh?"

"The Agency's looking to fill its pockets again."

"With...? Honestly, John-boy, stop with the cryptic pauses."

Jonathan hit his arm again. "The archaeologists on Makkihn-1... They've found something the Agency are after. We're going in to get it."

"And the archaeologists?"

Jonathan lifted his head. Jacobyte snorted at the disbelieving expression being aimed at him. "Okay, stupid question."

"Mm," said Jonathan, snuggling back into the abandoned shoulder. "But anyway, yes. The teams there think they've found some lost civilisation. The Agency thinks it's found its next pay-check." He shrugged a little. "Same old."

Jacobyte nodded, chin nestling into Jonathan's hair.

A pause.

"You're hogging the covers."

"Am not."

"Jacobyte, shift your arse and share. My back's getting cold."

"I'm the biggest here, therefore I get more of the covers. Deal with it."

And Jonathan did deal with it. By squirming up and lying on Jacobyte until he couldn't breathe.

They did fall asleep, eventually.


	15. Ripples in the Pond

**Author note:** So apparently it's been six months since I posted the last chapter of this? Deity, guys, I'm so sorry... Hope you enjoy! Currently I'm going through the delightful chaos that is Fresher's Week. Bwahaha.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen – Ripples in the Pond**

A yelp sounded behind Jonathan as they disembarked the freighter, and he turned in time to have the brown haired woman – Titalia, Jacobyte had said her name was, strange thing – from earlier stumble into him. His arms went out to catch her, managing to stop the fall before her face hit the rough grille of the ramp.

"You alright?"

Titalia tried to breathe. "F-fine. Thanks."

"Oh, good."

"...you going to put me back up anytime soon?"

Jonathan grinned and set her upright. To his mild confusion, she backed away several steps. "You alright?" he asked again.

And she kept backing up. Back into the ship and out of sight. Jonathan frowned.

"Playing nicely?" said Jacobyte, appearing beside him and eyeing the ship's airlock.

Jonathan turned to him and grinned. "Always."

"Right then. Come on. The harridan's already gone ahead."

"I don't like her," said Jonathan, swinging his bag over his shoulder and following after Jacobyte.

"You don't like a lot of people," Jacobyte soothed. He dodged sideways out of the path of a man running toward them wearing thick goggles and a mesh helmet. Jonathan did the same. They stared after him. "You going to tell me you don't like him either?"

"I don't know who he is! How can I judge someone that quickly?"

"Darling, it's a skill of yours."

Jonathan chewed his lip, turned and kept walking. "Fine."

"Fine what?"

"I didn't like him. The helmet and the goggles clashed."

Jacobyte laughed.

Φ

Castern dumped a key card in their hands and slammed her door shut again. "You're down the hall and you've got ten minutes before we're moving again, so don't get comfy," came her muffled instruction.

Jacobyte and Jonathan blinked at each other. Blinked at the key card. Blinked at each other again.

"That's just weird," Jacobyte eventually managed.

Jonathan tilted his head, as if somehow, from a different angle, the key card wouldn't proclaim the numbers one, zero and one.

"That's just _weird_."

Jonathan rapped on Castern's door. Her head appeared and she scowled at them. "Ten minutes, I said."

"You want to swap rooms?"

The door slammed shut. Again.

"I'll take that as a no?"

"Come on, John-boy. Room 101 awaits."

"You're doing nothing for my confidence here..."

Φ

"Sandra Ducamp?"

A woman in the group of dithering archaeologists glanced up, eyes shrouded by the dirty blonde fringe that extended from underneath her cap, and she groaned. "Not you lot."

Castern's eyebrow raised slightly. "You are Sandra Ducamp, yes?"

"That's Professor Ducamp to you, Agency louse." Sandra glanced behind Castern to where Jacobyte and Jonathan were trying not to smirk. Flicked her eyes back to Castern. "What can I do for you?"

"You were contacted by—"

"Yes, yes." Sandra waved a hand. "Do you know how much your little organisation has set us back? The trouble you've caused across the field?"

"If you have a point, Professor, you might like to reach it some time soon." Castern smiled, no warmth to the twitch of her lips whatsoever. "Preferably before I contact my superiors and have the funding for your project pulled."

In a forced tone, Sandra repeated, "What can I do for you?"

"As I said, you were contacted by my Agency. We need a guide."

Sandra nodded, mulling this over. "Round the corner. Second building on the left. Tourist trails are every hour." She flashed a saccharine smile and began to walk back to the group. "Excuse me, I have work to do."

Behind Castern, Jonathan tiptoed a little and whispered in Jacobyte's ear, "I think I can see her dye job twitching."

Castern whirled. "Captain."

"Ma'am?"

Jonathan sank back to the flat of his feet, expression carefully blank.

"We need her as a guide. Regrettably, she's the best whacko out here. See to it."

Jacobyte inclined his head a little.

Φ

"Professor Ducamp?" Jacobyte finally tracked the woman down, about an hour later, sorting through catalogues and boxes in the loading area of this particular site's space port.

"Oh for— Look, I told that ginger-nut earlier. I'm not going to help."

Jacobyte smiled easily. "Yeah, me and my partner don't like her either."

Sandra frowned, a glimmer of amusement peeking out from under her cap. "And you would be?"

"Captain Jacobyte Hasphane." He extended a hand. Sandra gave it a firm squeeze and then went back to her cataloguing, keeping one eye on Jacobyte.

"We were wondering, you know," she said, once it became obvious that Jacobyte was politely waiting for her to finish before he'd speak. "How long it would take before the temporal gold diggers got here."

Jacobyte chuckled. "And there aren't gold diggers and opportunists here already? All the biological and pharmaceutical industries looking for new compounds, out in the rainforest. New drugs for a hungry market. You're telling me you're here researching the past without profit in mind?"

"Yes."

"Then I salute you, Professor. Integrity like that's hard to come by, these days."

Sandra looked up again. "Did you actually just salute me?"

"It would appear so."

And Sandra laughed. "Drop the chit chat, Captain," she said, smiling. "What are you here for?"

"Can't I be here for the inane chit chat? I like the chit chat. There's no pressure."

A weary sounding sigh. "Captain—"

"Professor?"

"Jacobyte."

Jacobyte grinned. "Sandra."

She rolled her eyes.

"We need a guide." Jacobyte nodded to the circumference of trees, thinned out in this sector, but thicker and more dense as civilisation petered out into the dense jungle that was Makkihn-Aweh. "Out there."

"You've said. And I told you where the tourists go."

"Ah, but we're not tourists."

"No, you're greedy. Here for your own profit."

"Mm," said Jacobyte, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Chit chat's good, isn't it?"

"I'm not going to help you, Captain."

"Oh, you are."

"Am I?"

"I can see it in your eyes. You gave in five minutes ago."

"Did I indeed?"

"Either that or you want to ask me out for a drink."

"You are quite incredibly full of yourself, Captain."

"Is that a no?"

"No."

"Is that a yes?"

"Goodbye, Captain."

"I'll pick you up later."

"Good_bye_, Captain."

He saluted again, this time with a sly wink thrown in for good measure, and Sandra waved her hands to shoo him away.

Jacobyte left with a grin. Jonathan was waiting for him around the corner. "You think you're some big ol' space-age Casanova, don't you?"

"You love it."

Jonathan tilted his head. Nope. No way to argue with that. Jacobyte looped an arm around Jonathan's waist and started to lead them away from the small space port. They found a seating area nearby, overlooking the port, bought some of the food from a vendor and sat to eat and people watch.

After five years with a glass shielded view of the outside world, people watching was a hard habit to break.

The next freighter landed just as Jacobyte and Jonathan were finishing their pastry-and-meat creations, and they tossed the paper wrappers aside and walked to lean over the railing's edge, watching passengers disembark and goods, artefacts and samples get loaded.

"Hey," said Jonathan, pointing. "The weird couple from the freighter."

Jacobyte followed Jonathan's finger and tilted his head. "They leaving so soon?"

"Don't think..." A pause as a woman appeared off the freighter, caught sight of Titalia and Innesiris waiting and ran down the ramp to hug them. The three jumped in a circle, elated and high pitched as only reunited females could be. "So," Jonathan finished. "Heh."

"Bit more heavy duty than the other two, isn't she?"

"Hmm?"

"Kitted for travel..."

"Hmm," said Jonathan. "As opposed to?"

"Well, that one," said Jacobyte, nodding his head to Titalia. "Highly impractical wardrobe choices, there. Swish, but impractical."

"You might just have out-gayed yourself there, dear."

Jacobyte snorted. "And her." Another nod, this time to the purple haired Innesiris. "She appears to be carrying a library in her bag."

"And... your bag wasn't full to the brim with books when _we_ travelled around?"

A sniff. "Not _that_ many."

"Uh-huh."

The trio below separated and began to walk away from the port, arms linked and mouths chattering. Titalia glanced up, caught sight of Jacobyte and Jonathan watching and hissed something to the other two.

"They're looking this way," said Jonathan.

"So?"

"We're being pointed at," he added. Because this obviously changed the situation. "And talked about."

Jacobyte looked at him sideways. "And that's somehow different from what we're doing, to them?"

"Point."

"Wow, they're really going for it..."

"What do we do?"

"We could wave?"

"Could do, yeah..."

Jacobyte and Jonathan waved. The new woman, even at this distance they could tell, arched an eyebrow. Titalia waved back and then stopped at a mutter from Innesiris. The trio walked up the slow incline of a hill from the port and eventually arrived in the seating area where Jacobyte and Jonathan stood.

Titalia waved again, a jittery little motion. Innesiris sighed. The third woman just looked amused, then thoughtful, eyes running over Jacobyte and Jonathan.

"Huh," she said. "You're shorter in real life."

Titalia swatted her, and there was a muffled squeak as the woman tackled Titalia to the floor. Then tickling ensued. Innesiris took a careful step to the left. "Don't mind them."

Jonathan was tilting his head at the flailing women. "Mm?"

"Jacobyte," said Jacobyte, extending his hand.

Innesiris shook it. "Innie. You met Titalia." She gestured behind her. "That's Katerine."

A hand waved from floor level.

Jonathan blinked away and back to Innesiris. "So, you three are..."

The flailing paused, and Innesiris said, carefully, "We three are what?"

"She wishes," muttered Katerine.

Innesiris whirled, tartan boots stomping. "Oi!"

"I'm saying nothing," said Titalia.

"_Tali_."

"Hey! Don't look at me. She's the one that said it."

"Yeah," continued Innesiris, "but you were thinking it..."

Titalia looked bewildered for all of three seconds before Katerine started tickling her again. Innesiris turned her attention back to Jacobyte and Jonathan, who were quite enjoying the free show, if they were honest. She eyed Jacobyte. "Kind of sparkly, aren't you?"

Jacobyte frowned slightly, though the smile didn't drop. "I beg your pardon?"

"No, you don't. You don't beg anyone's pardon."

"... have you been drinking?"

"Hm? Oh. No."

"Maybe you should..."

Innesiris shrugged, then laughed at Jonathan's expression, which had perked at the mention of drinks. Behind her, Titalia and Katerine broke apart, panted, and eyed each other warily. Then they got to their feet, one chipper and one grumbling.

"If that's your idea of an invitation," said Katerine, "you..." She paused. Frowned.

"Need better ideas?" Titalia put in, the glower on her face twitching away into amusement.

Katerine sighed. "Something along those lines, yes."

"We ought to be going," Innesiris said, firmly linking her hands with those of her companions. Titalia looked a little startled. "Things to do, people to not see, that sort of thing." Katerine developed a faint frown, at this, looking between the four of them.

Jacobyte and Jonathan settled back into bemusement. It seemed best. Jacobyte gave a little nod, and Jonathan a half-hearted leer.

Once the trio were gone, Jonathan turned to Jacobyte squinting against the dulled sunlight.

"What strange people," he said.

Jacobyte snorted. "Says you."

A shrug. Closely followed by a grin.

Jacobyte quirked an eyebrow. "Wasn't that funny."

"S'not what I'm smiling about."

"What _are_ you smiling about, then?"

"Ducamp says yes."

"How could you _possibly_ know that?"

"She's standing behind you."

Jacobyte whirled.

Sandra's eyes creased in amusement. "Captain."

"Professor." Jacobyte was totally in charge of the situation. Oh yes. Uh. "My partner, Lieutenant Holster," he said, gesturing from him to Sandra.

"Ma'am," said Jonathan, tugging his forelock.

Sandra's eyes creased a little more. She tucked an escaping strand of blonde back up under her cap and gave a little acknowledging nod. "Lieutenant." Turned her attention back to Jacobyte. "Your partner is correct, sad to say."

"Sad?" Jacobyte cocked his head to the side. Smiled easily.

"Yep," said Sandra, seemingly unimpressed.

Jonathan grinned again.

"So if you can track down that... what was her name again?"

"Call her Castern. That's all we got out of her anyway."

"Castern. Right. If you can track her down, I'll be able to take you out within the hour. Nothing much important to do today."

"Except dig stuff up?" Jonathan offered, a twinkle in his eye.

"Except dig 'stuff' up," Sandra flatly agreed, "yes." She adjusted her cap. "Come to the main compound entrance when you're ready."

Jacobyte and Jonathan watched her go with mildly raised eyebrows in one case, and a grin in the other.

Jonathan turned away. "I'm really starting to like her..."

"Oh yeah? And why's that?"

"She ain't impressed by you."

Jacobyte eyed the back of Jonathan's head. Tagged after him. "Stop smirking."

Jonathan beamed to the world, or foggy jungle, if you wanted to be accurate, at large. "Shan't."


End file.
